H)     c"> 


The  White  House, 


RAPHAEL  WEILL  &  CO. 

Wholesale  and  Retail 
Dealers  in 


Foreign  and  Domestic  Drv  Goods 
Cloaks,  Suits,  Gents'  Fur- 
nishing Goods,  Etc 


N.  W.  COR. 

POST  AND  KEARNY  STS. 

San  Francisco 


Dr.  Jaeger's 

SANITARY  WOOLEN  UNDERWEAR 


ADVERTISEMENTS  1 


We  want  every  Family 

IN 

Alameda,  Oakland,  Berkeley 

TO  USE 

//frs.  Smily  ffloberson's 


Expressed  on 

Olivina  Farm      Auburn,  California 

WON  THE" 

COLUMBIAN  EXPOSITION  MEDAL 

CHICAGO,    1893 
In  Competition  with  the   World's  Celebrated  Brands 

We  Challenge  Competition 

If  your  Grocer  don't  keep  it 

write  to 

DODQE,    SWEENEY  &  Co. 

SAN  KRANCISCO. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


A  Natural  Food 
infants 


CONDENSED  MILK. 


Our  Beautiful  BOOK  on   Babies 
Contains  Valuable  Information 
FOP 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


III 


ARCTIC  OIL  WORKS 


MANUFACTURERS   OF 

Lubricating    and    Illuminating    Oils 

Eagle  Pearl  Snow  Flake 

Headlight  White  Light  Olena 

Engine,  Cylinder  and  Lard  Oils 

White  Light  Olena  Oil  is  made  from  Pennsylvania  crude,  and  put  up 
for  family  use  for  such  persons  as  desire  an  Oil  that  is  absolutely  safe.  No 
smoke.  No  smell.  High  fire  test  and  water  white.  This  Oil  has  no  su- 
perior in  the  market  and  a  trial  will  satisfy  any  person  so  they  will  use  no 
other. 

Tank  Wagons  Will  Supply  all  Grocery  Stores  With 
Bulk  Oil  or  Case  Oil 


Office,  30  California  Street 


5AN  FRANCISCO 


24MONTG01  „.,.    _.., 

SAN  FRANCISCO.CAL. 

FRANK  R.  NEVILLE,    Manager. 

THE  printing  of  half-tones  is  as   much  an  art  as  the 
making  of  them.    Therefore  the  printing  should  be 
as  good  as  the  plate,  which  is  not  always  the  case.     It 
costs    no   more    for  good  printing  than  it   does   for   bad 
printing. 

OUR  IMPRINT 
on  the  plate  means 

A    PERFECT  PLATE 
which  entitles  you  to 

HIGH  CLASS  PRINTING, 


IV 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 

Ccuolenc 


Ghirardelli's 

Ground  Chocolate 

Made  Instantly! 
Delicious  I 

Nourishing! 


NEW 

SPRING 

STYLES 


FINE  SHOES 


830-832-834  Market  St 


San  Francisco 


"The  Oakland" 

Shoe  House 

1059  Washington  St., 

and    in 
Macdonough  Theater  Block 

"The  San  Francisco" 

Shoe  House 

931  Market  St. 

Reliable,  Staple  and     Fashion- 
able   Foot-Wear. 

We  Solicit  Your  Patronage. 

Geo.  E.  Fairchild. 


In  place  of  Lard  or  any  other 

cooking  fat 

and 


table  Salt  « 

Which  never  cakes  but  always 
remains  dry. 


Fulton  Engineering  and  Ship 
Building  Works 


SAN    FRANCISCO, 


Builders  of 

Iron  &  Wooden  Vessels 
of  all  sizes 


Manufacturers  of 

Hoisting,  Pumping, 

Milling, 

Smelting  and  all  classes 

of 

Mining  Machinery 


jtfnson  ffictrstow 

Dealer  in 

HAY,  GRAIN,    WOOD    AND    COAL 


S.  K.  CORNER    I3TH    AND 
FRANKLIN  STREETS  .  . 


Telephone  412 


Telephone  621 

W.  B.  STANDErORD 


Manufacturer  of 


Choice    Confections 


1205  Broadway 

10  San  Pablo  Avenue 

458  Seventh  St. 


OAKLAND,  CftL. 


ADVERTISEMENTS  V 

Vour  Underwear  i$  Guaranteed 

To  fit  if  manufactured  by  the 

"Golden  Gate  Knitting  mills" 

Owning  the  "GOLDEN  GATE  KNITTING  MILLS" 
enables  us  to  sell  first-class  Vests,  Drawers,  com- 
bination suits  and  equestrienne  tights  in  silk, 
silk  and  wool,  wool,  cotton  and  cotton  and  wool  for 
less  money  than  any  other  store  in  San  Francisco. 


129  KEARNY  STREET 
San  Francisco 


fort  (ilayne  (-lectric  Corporation 


MANUFACTURERS  OF- 


Motors,  Rheostats,  Arc  and  Incandescent  Lamps, 
Dynamo  Electric  Machinery  for  Transmission 
of  Light  and  Power  ^  Estimates  furnished 
for  every  description  of  electrical  work  &  ^ 


Pacific  Coast  Office,  i$  Second  Street 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA  j»  j»  j* 

jt  jt  jt  jt  j»    CHARLES  R.  LLOYD,  GENERAL  AGENT 


VI  ADVERTISEMENTS 

PORT 
COSTA 
FLOUR 


WHITE  AS  SNOW 

FOR  SALE 

BY  ALL 

GROCERS 


TELEPHONE  NO.    882 

MILLER    &   BUTLER 


FLOUR, 


GRAIN, 


AND  FEED 


AGENTS   FOR 

PORT  COSTA  FLOUR  MILLS, 
VALLEJO  BRAN 
AND  MIDDLINGS. 

Grain  and  Feed  at  Wharf 
Rates. 

Webster  St.  Wharf, 

OAKLAND,  CAL. 


TESLA  COAL 

6.50  Per  Ton  6.50 

MINED  BY 

The  San  Francisco  and  San  Joaquin  Coal  Mines, 

at  TESLA,  ALAMEDA  COUNTY,  CAL. 
:  o  : 

San  Francisco  and  San  Joaquin  Coal  Company  is  the  owner  of  the  mines  commonly 
called  Corral  Hollow.  This  property  embraces  about  4,200  acres  of  land  situate  at 
Tesla  Alameda  County,  about  12  miles  from  Livermore. 

At  the  mine  at  Tesla  extensive  machinery  has  been  erected,  an  electric  light  plant 
has  been  constructed,  and  extensive  developments  have  been  made  to  determine  the 
amount  and  extent  of  the  coal,  and  for  the  purpose  of  opening  the  mine. 

The  Tesla  Coal  Mines  were  originally  owned  by  Messrs.  James  and  John  Treadwell. 
Before  the  incorporation  of  the  company  they  expended  |8oo,ooo  in  the  purchase  and 
development  of  the  property.  Since  the  organization  of  the  company  $1,100,000  in 
cash  has  been  expended  so  that  the  actual  cost  of  the  property  to-day  exceeds  $1,900,00. 

Orders  for  Tesla  coal  can  be  filled  in  Oakland  by  JOHN  L.  DAVIE,  at  1058  Broadway, 
Tel.  79  Main,  and  in  Alameda  by  H.  H.  GRIFFITHS.  Yard  opposite  Park  St.  Station. 
In  San  Francisco,  orders  can  be  filled  at  308  Montgomery  St.  Phone  5703,  or  at  the 
Emporium. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


VII 


E.  P.  KING,  Dealer  in  Groceries  and  Pro- 
visions, Dry  Goods,  Notions,  Wood,  Coal, 
Hay  and  Grain  **  Telegraph  Avenue  and 
Dwight  Way  J*  Berkeley,  Cal.  J*  Tele- 
phone Main  6^«^^«^«^«^«^^«^ 


Panoramic  View 

of  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco 

Four  Feet  Long,  in  Box 

PRICE    T5  Cts. 

W.  K.   VICKERY 

224  Post  St. 


TOYS  FOR  CHILDREN — A  collection  of  beautiful 
melodies  by  well-known  composers  with  original 
words  by  Lucy  Croghan  Browne.  For  Sale  at 
Music  and  Book  Stores.  IPrioe  4JJH.OO 


F.  V.    BAKR 


Berkeley  Pharmacy 

Pure  Drugs  and  Chemicals,  Perfumery, 
Toilet  Articles,  Merk's  Preparations.  Pre- 
scriptions a  Specialty.  g0r.  Sbattuck  Hve.  and 
Center  St.,  Berkeley,  Cal. 


CRANE 


COMPANY 


23  and  25  First  St.,  San  Francisco 

Manufacturers  of  and   Dealers  in 

CAST    IRON 

AND  WROUGHT  IRON  PIPE, 

FITTINGS,  VALVES    AND 

PLUMBING  GOODS 

OF  ALL  KINDS. 

Catalogues  and  Price  lists  on 
application. 


more       J.  W.  Davis 


Should  you  visit  us,  you  are  assured  of 
intelligent  attention  by  skilled  Opticians. 
If  a  wearer  of  glasses — perhaps  they  are 
crooked — no  charge  tor  adjusting. 

317    Kearny   Street 


If  Your 


Pain.  Smart  or  Water,  it  is  their  pleading  for 
help. 

Spectacles  properly  fitted  are  the  usual 
remedy. 

If  already  a  wearer  of  spectacles,  they  per- 
haps are  crooked.  We  charge  nothing  for 
straightening  them. 

L  A.  BERETTA 
OPTICIAN 

456  i3th  Street    or     1151   Broadway 
Through  Steffanoni's  Jewelry  Store. 


TELEPHONE  NO.  481. 
T.  BURTCHAELL,  D.  CROWLEY 

Res.  2442  Broadway  Res.  670  Sycamore 

BURTCHAELL  &  CROWLEY 

Plumbers  and  Gas  Fitters 

Steam  and  Hot  Water  Heating 
1249  BROADWAY,    Oakland,  Cal. 

Agents  Bolton  Hot  Water  Heater. 


VIII 


AD  VER  TISEMEN7S 


If  you  want  a  Bicycle 


You  want  the 
Best  there  is 

It  doesn't  pay  to  buy  a  bicycle 
unidentified  with  responsibility, 
simply  because  it  is  cheap.  There 
is  wise  economy  in  every  dollar 
that  the  Columbia  costs. 


Send  for  Catalogue 

(2  cent  stamp) 

15  Models 
$35   to    $125 


Pope  ManTg  Co.,  Makers 


344  Post  St.,  San  Francisco 


102  Telegraph  Avenue,  OAKLAND,  CAL. 


El  dredge 
Sewing:     flachines 

Simple, 
Durable  and 
...Light   Running 

Handsome   in    Design   and    Finely   Finished 

None   Better   in   the  World.     First= 

class   in  Every   Particular. 

Guaranteed  for  5 

Years 

DUNHAM,CARRIQAN  &  HAYDEN  CO. 

AGENTS 

17  and  19  Beale  Street 

San  Francisco 


CONTENTS 


Frontispiece, Portrait  of  Edward  Rowland  Sill 

Edward  Rowland  Sill,  (A  Sketch) Milicent  Washburn  Shinn      I 

Tte  Jet?  That  Wi"  N<>t  Die  \  pSs *fe~*  "-"V"  5^ 

The  Cha-No-Yu  ( The  Tea  Ceremony ) Mrs.  Bernard  Moses      8 

In  the  Mountains  at  Coffee  Creek,  (Illustration) 12 

A  Sentimentalist Ednah  Robinson     13 

The  Song  of  the  Bells,  (a  Poem) Charles  A.  Keeler    20 

Mossbrae  Falls,  (Illustration) 22 

Extracts  from  the  Writtings  of  Frank  M.  Pixley 23 

The  Final  Gospel,  (a  Poem) George  C.  Wilson     27 

After  Strange  Gods Frank  Norris    28 

San  Lorenzo  Creek,  (Illustration) Maurer    34 

A  Bit  of  Cheer Harriet  L.  Levy    35 

A  Soul,  (a  Poem) Elizabeth  Gerberding    38 

A  Bull  Fight  in  Mexico Mabel  Clare  Craft    39 

Easter-Even,  (a  Poem) Clarence  Urmy    47 

Enfoldings Mary  Mapes  Dodge    48 

A  Ghostly  Benediction Mary  Bell    49 

Baker's  Beach,  (Illustration) Maurer    57 

Whittier,  1892-1898 Ina  Coolbnth    57 

The  Oaks,  (Illustration) Keith     58 

The  Pacific  Ocean  in  the  2oth  Century Eli  T.  Sheppard    59 

An  Amulet,  (a  Poem) Kegina  E.  Wilson    67 

Chinese  Love  Song,  (Illustrated  Music) 68 

An  111  Wind Cromwell  Galpin     70 

The  Indians  of  Hoopa  Valley 80 

Sense  and  Nonsense Charles  A  Murdoch    84 

The  Tryst,  (a  Poem) Warren  Cheney    87 

The  Lagoon  at  Sutters  Fort,  (Illustration) 88 

San  Francisco's  Needs James  D.  Phelan    89 

Reminiscences  of  John  G.  Whittier M.  B.  C.     92 

The  Cloister  of  San  Juan  Mission,  (Illustration) 98 

The  Contributor's  Club Editor    99 

A  Contribution Gelette  Burgess 

Some  Colonial  Receipts Mrs.  Joseph  La  Conte 

Japanese  Paper  Novelties 

A  Morning  Prayer,  (a  Poem) Mrs.  A.  C.  Bailey 

The  Ladies  Relief  Society,  (a  Review) 105 

To  Mothers,  (a  Poem) M.  O.vton  107 

At  the  Foot  of  Mt.  Shasta,  (Illustration) 108 

Corner  of  a  Chinese  Restaurant,  (Illustration) Taber  109 

At  the  Foot  of  Van  Ness  Avenue,  (Illustration) /f'./.  Street  no 

On  the  Merced  River,  (Illustration) in 

A  Head,  (from  a  Painting) 112 


EDWARD   ROWLAND  SILL 


•^•^RiiWMi  M^^Of^Ky 


Mariposa  Magazine 

OnciTssuelOnly  ««««« 

for  the  benefit  of  Xadies  tteltef  iSoceety  of  OaMand,  Cat. 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL, 


niLICCNT  WftSHBURN  SHINN. 


Edward  Rowland  Sill  was  born  April  29,  1841,  in  Wind- 
^      sor,  one  of  the   oldest  towns  in  Connecticut.     He  was    de- 
\       scended  on  the  father's  side  from  a  long  line  of  New  Eng- 
o      land  physicians,  while  on  his  mother's  side  the  clergy  were 
v  4      strongly  represented.    The  direct  maternal  line  led  back,  at 
Iv     a  remove  of  five  or  six  generations,  to  the  elder  Edwards; 
"^v     and  in  spite  of  this  considerable  remove  in  descent,  Prof. 
Sill,  I  think,  felt  in  himself  a  somewhat  special  affinity  to 
this  maternal  line  of  ancestors ;  and  his  friends  often  spoke 
of  the  marked  inheritance  in  him  of  "the  Edwards  charm,'' 
—that  singular  and  indefinable  fascination,  and  power  of 
commanding  friendship,  which  seems  to  appear  from  time 
to  time  in  members  of  this  stock,  and  has  become  historic 
Y     in  the  case  of  Aaron  Burr.    To  the  union,  also,  of  the  poetic, 
*      metaphysical,  and  even  mystic  tendencies  of  the  maternal 
>J     line,  and  the  physician's  bent  of  the  paternal,  Professor  Sill 
doubtless  owed  the  remarkable  blending  of  the  poetic  and 
scientific   natures,  which   struck   everyone  who  knew  him 
well  very  forcibly.    It  might  almost  be  said  that  teaching 
and  literature  became  his  profession  as  a  diagonal  of  forces 
Between  these  two  very  strong  bents ;  and  he  was  all  his  life 
more  or  less  tossed  to  and  fro  between  a  temperament  that 
demanded  zealous  beliefs  and  a  mind  that  criticized  them. 

He  was  the  younger  of  two  brothers,  but  when  he  was 
still  a  child  the  older  brother  was  drowned  in  swimming  or 
skating,  and  the  little  boy  became  the  idolized  only  child  of 


2  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

a  home  which  was  early  broken  up  by  the  death  of  both  pa- 
rents. Although  he  found  an  affectionate  home  with  kin- 
dred, the  loss  of  his  parents,  especially  of  his  mother,  cast  a 
shadow  which  he  felt  to  the  end  of  his  life.  He  was  eleven 
years  old  at  the  time  of  his  orphanhood. 

He  was  prepared  for  college  at  Phillips  Academy,  Exeter, 
— one  of  the  turee  or  four  most  famous  classical  schools  of 
New  England.  I  always  heard  him  speak  with  high  esteem 
of  this  school,  yet  it  did  not,  so  far  as  I  know,  impress  him 
deeply  in  character  nor  leave  any  lasting  friendships.  This 
may  have  been  because  most  Exeter  men  prepared  for  Har- 
vard, while  he  was  destined  to  Yale;  or  because  he  was  a 
day  scholar  only,  living  with  kinsfolk  in  the  town.  He  was 
a  quiet  and  sensitive  boy,  but  rather  reserved  and  fastidi- 
ous than  shy. 

He  entered  Yale  in  1857,  and  here  made  a  number  of 
warm  and  confidential  friendships,  which  lasted  to  the  end 
of  his  life,  and  will  preserve  an  abiding  memory  of  him  as 
long  as  any  of  his  group  of  college  friends  live.  It  is  most 
touching  and  striking  to  see,  in  visiting  New  Haven,  how 
strong  an  interest  in  him — in  his  life  and  his  work — still 
dwells  about  Yale,  where  he  was  simply  one  of  many  under- 
graduates, thirty-five  years  ago.  The  Yale  spirit  of  the  fif- 
ties— a  somewhat  different  thing  from  the  Yale  spirt  of  to- 
day, but  doubtless  its  parent — took  a  strong  hold  on  him, 
and  he  was  always  a  loyal  Yale  man,  even  though  the  ordi- 
nary college  partisanship  was  not  congenial  to  him.  He 
was  always  a  very  strong  believer,  too,  in  the  potency  of 
the  college  education,  especially  of  the  full  classical  cur- 
riculum; he  had  little  patience  with  utilitarian  schemes  of 
education,  and  was  at  all  times  a  defender  of  the  ideal  mo- 
tive in  the  training  of  the  young.  The  old  New  England 
college  education  came,  he  believed,  very  near  to  the  correct 
type,  though  he  was  glad  to  welcome  the  enlargement  and 
enrichment  of  it  by  the  introduction  of  modern  science  and 
a  fuller  English  curriculum.  Nevertheless,  he  always  pro- 
tested against  the  substitution  of  English  studies  for  the 
classics,  and  believed  that  the  classical  languages  and  liter- 
atures were  the  almost  indispensable  preparation  for  solid 
attainments  in  our  own.  His  views  on  these  subjects  were 
somewhat  ardently  expressed  in  his  poem,  "Man,  the 
Spirit,"  read  at  one  of  the  early  California  Alumni  gather- 
ings; and  in  various  essays  of  later  years. 

Leaving  college  with  somewhat  impaired  health,  and 
much  perplexed  with  the  question  of  a  suitable  profession, 
Mr.  Sill  was  easily  induced  to  accompany  his  especial  friend 
and  comrade,  Mr.  Sextus  Shearer,  to  California,  taking  the 
long  voyage  around  the  Horn.  The  fruit  of  the  four  years 
spent  in  California  in  his  early  twenties  was  some  close 
friendships,  which  eventually  drew  him  back  (together  with 


LIFE  OF  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL,     j 

a  love  for  the  State  itself  then  implanted) ;  the  long  poem, 
"The  Hermitage";  and  a  number  of  futile  attempts  to  find 
his  proper  work.  The  years  were  in  part  spent  in  temporary 
clerkships,  as  a  mere  matter  of  livelihood;  but  he  also  made 
a  study  of  medicine,  with  Dr.  Harkness,  now  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  tried  the  study  of  law,  also, — to  what  extent  I  do 
not  know — rather  with  a  view  to  the  mental  discipline  than 
with  any  expectation  of  practicing.  His  mind  hovered  very 
persistently  about  the  ministry,  from  which  he  was  deterred 
by  inability  heartily  to  assent  to  the  accepted  creeds. 

In  1866  Mr.  Sill  returned  to  the  East,  and  married  his 
cousin,  Miss  Elizabeth  Sill,  of  Cuyahoga  Falls,  Ohio.  He 
then  entered  the  Harvard  Divinity  School,  as  a  sort  of  last 
test  of  the  possibility  of  the  ministry.  He  enjoyed  his  stud- 
ies here  greatly,  but  after  a  year  gave  up  definitely  the  idea 
of  preaching — not  so  much,  I  gather,  because  of  irreconcil- 
able theological  opinions,  as  because  he  perceived  the  im- 
possibility of  binding  himself  to  hold  always  any  given  set 
of  opinions,  and  especially  to  make  his  livelihood  dependent 
on  continued  agreement  with  any  church.  Teaching,  he 
writes  to  a  friend,  has  always  been  the  first  alternative  in 
his  mind,  if  preaching  proves  impossible;  and  California 
was  the  place  in  which  he  preferred  to  teach.  He  spent  a 
few  months  in  New  York,  however,  and  there  made  a  brief 
essay  at  newspaper  editing  (which  he  found  heartily  uncon- 
genial), and  did  some  translating  for  a  publishing  house. 
In  1868,  in  Ohio,  he  began,  with  the  utmost  zeal  and  devo- 
tion, the  life  work  of  a  teacher,  which  he  afterward  re- 
garded as  a  more  useful  and  sacred  calling  than  any  preach- 
er's. Although  the  public  insists  upon  regarding  him 
chiefly  as  a  poet,  Mr.  Sill  himself  never  after  this  period  in 
his  life  regarded  poetry,  or  literature  in  general,  as  any- 
thing but  a  diversion,  and  insisted  upon  teaching  as  his  call- 
ing. Even  when  he  became  ;i  college  professor  of  Litera- 
ture, he  did  not  regard  literature,  but  teaching,  his  work. 
His  qualification  for  this  work  amounted  to  genius;  no 
teacher  ever  took  hold  upon  his  pupils  more  deeply,  or  in- 
fused more  actual  inspiration  into  the  details  of  a  school 
course.  To  have  seen  him  teach  was  to  have  new  ideas  of 
the  possibilities  of  the  calling. 

In  1871  Mr.  Sill  was  called  to  California  as  the  second 
teacher  in  the  Oakland  High  School,  then  two  years  old. 
In  this  school,  for  three  years,  he  did  perhaps  the  most  sat- 
isfactory teaching  of  his  life.  He  attached  enormous  im- 
portance to  the  period  of  adolescence,  and  believed  that  at 
the  high  school  stage  the  bent  of  a  young  person's  character 
was  determined. 

In  1874,  President  Gilman  induced  Mr.  Sill  to  accept  the 
vacant  chair  of  English  in  the  University  of  California.  His 
influence  here  also  was  remarkable,  and  the  department  of 


4  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

English  was  greatly  advanced  in  his  hands.  But  the  eight 
years  spent  in  the  chair  were  very  hard  ones  to  him. 
had  always  worked  beyond  his  strength  in  teaching,  and 
this  was  even  more  the  case  in  the  University  than  in  secon- 
dary work.  The  troublous  times  that  the  University  ex- 
perienced after  the  resignation  of  President  Oilman,  with 
attacks  from  press  and  politicians,  financial  straits,  and  suc- 
cessive changes  in  the  presidency,  made  a  life  of  much  anx- 
iety for  one  who  threw  hs  soul  into  the  welfare  of  the  insti- 
tution as  Professor  Sill  did.  With  all  his  gentleness  and 
singular  loveability,  he  was  a  man  capable  of  strong  feel- 
ings of  antagonism,  and  he  was  keen  and  fearless  in  contro- 
versy where  he  considered  the  principles  of  sound  educa- 
tion at  stake;  and  he  and  the  present  honored  head  of  the 
University,  President  (then  Professor)  Kellogg,  had  more 
than  once  to  take  the  chief  brunt  of  the  battles  against 
Philistinism. 

In  1882  Professor  Sill  felt  it  best  to  retire  from  arduous 
work,  for  some  years  at  least,  intending  to  remain  quietly 
in  his  home  at  Berkeley  and  occupy  himself  as  a  writer. 
Soon  after,  however,  at  the  desire  of  his  father-in-law, 
whose  health  had  begun  to  fail,  Professor  and  Mrs.  Sill 
changed  their  plans,  and  returned  to  Cuyahoga  Falls.  In 
the  next  four  years  they  lived  very  quietly  there,  Professor 
Sill  contributing  to  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  Century,  and 
Nation.  Returning  to  literature  thus,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
powers,  he  found  at  once  a  welcome  as  a  poet  and  essayist, 
which  promised  a  large  future.  His  old  friends,  who  had 
always,  from  his  boyhood,  urged  on  him  the  hope  of  lit- 
erary greatness,  congratulated  themselves  that  it  was  at 
hand.  But  his  health,  never  good,  failed  more  and  more. 

In  the  winter  of  1886-7  he  strained  his  already  enfeebled 
constitution  very  severely  by  an  act  of  sympathetic  human- 
ity, in  nursing  a  neighbor  (whose  claim  on  him  was  slight) 
through  typhoid,  and  narrowly  escaped  the  disease  himself. 
While  still  at  the  lowest  ebb  of  strength  he  submitted  to  a 
slight  surgical  operation,  which  unexpectedly  proved  more 
than  he  was  able  to  endure.  He  died  in  Cleveland,  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1887,  before  he  had  completed  his  47th  year. 

Since  Professor  Sill's  death,  his  literary  reputation,  in- 
stead of  declining,  has  steadily  grown;  and  his  personality 
continues  to  excite  interest  in  strangers ,  as  well  as  to  be 
cherished  very  faithfully  in  memory  by  his  friends.  His  in- 
fluence as  a  teacher  has  proved  very  abiding;  and  more- 
over, radiating,  since  his  pupils  have  been  influential  as 
teachers,  and  as  advocates  of  his  educational  and  ethical 
fates.  Short  as  his  life  was,  and  impeded  by  frail  health, 
it  was  a  life  filled  with  intense  activity,  and  many  of  its  pur- 
poses were  fulfilled  more  nearly  than  Professor  Sill  ever 
foresaw. 


TWO  POEHS  BY  EDWARD  ROWLAND 

SILL. 


THE  THINGS  THAT  WILL  NOT  DIE.* 

What  am  I  glad  will  stay  when  I  have  passed 
From  this  dear  valley  of  the  world,  and  stand 

On  yon  snow-glimmering  peaks,  and  lingering  cast 

From  that  dim  land 
A  backward  look,  and  haply  stretch  my  hand, 

Regretful,  now  the  wish  comes  true  at  last? 

Sweet  strains  of  music  I  am  glad  will  be 
Still  wandering  down  the  wind,  for  men  will  hear 

And  think  themselves  from  all  their  care  set  free, 

And  heaven  near, 
When  summer  stars  burn  very  still  and  clear, 

And  waves  of  sound  are  swelling  like  the  sea. 

And  it  is  good  to  know  that  overhead 
Blue  skies  will  brighten,  and  the  sun  will  shine, 

And  flowers  be  sweet  in  many  a  garden  bed, 

And  all  divine 
(For  are  they  not,  0  Father,  thoughts  of  thine?) 

Earth's  warmth  and  fragrance  shall  on  men  be  shed. 

And  I  am  glad  that  night  will  always  come, 
Hushing  all  sounds,  even  the  soft-voiced  birds, 

Putting  away  all  light  from  her  deep  dome, 

Until  are  heard, 
In  the  wide  starlight's  stillness,  unknown  words 

That  make  the  heart  ache  till  it  find  its  home. 

And  I  am  glad  that  neither  golden  sky, 
Nor  violet  lights  that  linger  on  the  hill, 

Nor  ocean's  wistful  blue,  shall  satisfy. 

But  they  shall  fill 
With  wild  unrest  and  endless  longing  still, 

The  soul,  whose  hope  beyond  them  all  must  lie. 


*The  first  not  contained  in  any  published  volume  of  his  verse;  the  second  included 
only  in  the  rare  volume  "The  Venus  of  Milo  and  Other  Poems,"  printed  for  his 
friends  by  Mr.  Sill  in  1883. 


THE  MAR  IPOS  A  MAGAZINE. 

And  I  rejoice  that  love  shall  never  seem 

So  perfect  as  it  ever  was  to  be. 
But  endlessly  that  inner  haunting  dream 
Each  heart  shall  see 

Hinted  in  every  dawn's  fresh  purity, 
Hopelessly  shadowed  in  each  sunset's  gleam. 

And  though  warm  mouths  will  kiss  and  hands  will  cling. 
And  thought  by  silent  thought  be  understood, 

I  do  rejoice  that  the  next  hour  will  bring 

That  far  off  moco 
That  drives  one  like  a  lonely  child  to  God, 

Who  only  sees  ana  measures  everything. 

And  it  is  well  that  when  these  feet  have  pressed 

The  outward  path  from  earth,  'twill  not  seem  sad 
To  them  that  stay;    but  they  who  love  me  best 

Will  be  most  glad 

That  such  a  long  unquiet  now  has  had, 
At  last,  a  gift  of  perfect  peace  and  rest. 
(March,  1872.) 


THE  SECRET. 


A  tide  of  sun  and  song  in  beauty  broke 
Against  a  bitter  heart,  where  no  voice  woke 
Till  thus  it  spoke:  — 

What  was  it,  in  the  old  time  that  I  know, 
That  made  the  world  with  wiser  beauty  glow, 
Now  a  vain  show? 

Still  dance  the  shadows  on  the  grass  at  play, 
Still  move  the  clouds  like  great,  calm  thoughts  away, 
Nor  haste,  nor  stay. 

But  I  have  lost  that  breath  within  the  gale, 

That  light  to  which  the  daylight  was  a  veil, 

The  star-shine  pale. 

Still  all  the  summer  with  its  songs  is  filled, 
But  that  delicious  undertone  they  held— 
Why  is  it  stilled? 

Then  I  took  heart  that  I  would  find  again 
The  voices  that  had  long  in  silence  lain, 
Nor  live  in  vain. 


THE  SECRET. 

I  stood  at  noonday  in  the  hollow  wind, 
Listened  at  midnight,  straining  heart  and  mind, 
If  I  might  find! 

But  all  in  vain  I  sought,  at  eve  and  morn, 
On  sunny  seas,  in  dripping  woods  forlorn, 
Till  tired  and  worn. 

One  day  I  left  my  solitary  tent 
And  down  into  the  world's  bright  garden  went, 
On  labor  bent. 

The  dew  stars  and  the  buds  about  my  feet 
Began  their  old  bright  message  to  repeat, 
In  odors  sweet; 

And  as  I  worked  at  weed  and  root  in  glee, 
Now  humming  and  now  whistling  cheerily, 
It  came  to  me, — 

The  secret  of  the  glory  that  was  fled 
Shown  like  a  sweep  of  sun  all  overhead, 
And  something  said, — 

"  The  blessing  came  because  it  was  not  sought; 
There  was  no  care  if  thou  wert  blest  or  not: 
The  beauty  and  the  wonder  all  thy  thought— 
Thyself  forgot." 


Mrs. 
Bernard 

Moses. 


It  would  be  impossible  to  touch  even  superficially  the 
subject  of  Japanese  social  life  witHout  giving  some  atten- 
tion to  the  question  of  tea  drinking,  and  the  important  part 
it  plays  in  promoting,  and  even  determining,  the  etiquette 
of  humble  as  well  as  of  polite  society.  On  entering  an  inn,  a 
shop,  or  a  private  house,  a  smiling  almond-eyed  maiden  im- 
mediately appears,  and,  bowing  low,  offers  the  guest  a  tiny 
bowl  of  ^straw-colored  water — quite  unlike  tea  to  the  vit- 
iated foreign  taste.  In  houses  of  the  better  class,  a  small 
box  of  tea  swreets  is  served  with  the  tea.  These  tea  sweets 
are  made  in  attractive  shapes,  and  much  taste  and  skill 
are  displayed  in  their  moulding  and  coloring.  One  of  the 
daintiest  conceits  in  this  line  was  served  us  in  a  tea  house 
in  the  silk  district  during  the  spinning  season.  It  was  a 
confection  in  the  form  of  pink  and  white  cocoons  of  spun 
sugar,  delightful  to  both  eye  and  palate. 

A  box  of  tea  sweets  forms  an  appropriate  acknowledge- 
ment of  any  attention,  and  there  is  an  etiquette  in  regard  to 
the  kind  of  cakes,  the  box  in  which  they  are  sent,  and  the 
manner  of  sending  them,  which  is  bewildering  to  the  West- 
ern barbarian.  It  needs  but  a  brief  experience  in  polite 
society  to  convince  an  American  that  we  are  mere  tyros  in 
the  matter  of  etiquette.  From  earliest  childhood  the  high- 
class  Japanese  is  taught  to  live  according  to  the  most  rigid 
rules  of  an  etiquette,  wrhich  leaves  no  possible  action  to 
chance.  Yet  the  Japanese  have  the  simplest  and  most 
graceful  manners  imaginable.  No  movement  is  unstudied, 
and  yet  so  thoroughly  have  the  great  teachers  of  etiquette 
mastered  their  art,  that  they  have  succeeded  in  disguising 
the  fact  that  it  is  art  and  have  made  it  seem  simple  and  un- 
affected grace. 


THE   CHA-NO-YU.  9 

Among  the  aristocratic  Japanese  there  are  two  styles  of 
entertainment  connected  with  tea  drinking  which  enjoy 
great  vogue.  The  first  has  a  literary  and  aesthetic  char- 
acter and  is  rather  more  popular  than  the  second  mere  for- 
mal entertainment,  which  has  its  origin  in  China  and  be- 
longs to  the  old  regime. 

The  literary  tea  party,  called  cha-seki  in  Japanese,  is 
usually  given  in  a  tea  house.  The  tea  room  opens  on  one 
side  towards  the  garden,  which  has  been  especially  ar- 
ranged and  freshened  for  the  occasion.  It  is  carpeted  with 
soft  mats,  and  furnished  with  a  hanging  picture  and  a  piece 
of  bronze  or  lacquer.  Sometimes  the  host  sends  a  few 
choice  specimens  of  the  potter's  art  from  his  private  collec- 
tion, or  a  gold  leaf  screen  lends  a  subdued  splendor  to  the 
little  room.  In  some  tea  houses  there  is  a  celebrated  tea 
man  who  makes  the  tea  for  the  party,  as  its  preparation  is 
looked  upon  as  a  fine  art.  The  tea  is  a  fine  powder  of  choice 
variety.  Ordinarily  the  host  makes  the  tea  himself  and  pre- 
sents it  to  each  guest  with  much  ceremony.  The  literary 
part  of  the  entertainment  generally  consists  of  story  telling, 
each  member  of  the  party  contributing  his  share.  Japanese 
legends,  the  lives  of  heroes  and  great  events  in  the  history 
of  Japan  are  the  usual  themes.  If  it  be  spring  time  and  the 
cherry  trees  are  in  bloom,  the  guests  vie  with  each  other  in 
verses  celebrating  the  beauty  of  the  pink  blossoms.  This 
poetry  consisting  of  fourteen  unrhymed  syllables,  is  sug- 
gestive rather  than  descriptive.  The  couplet — 

"Green  fields  in  summer, 
People  sitting  under  shade  trees" 

does  not  seem  a  complete  poem  to  our  unimaginative  souls, 
but  the  Japanese  needs  but  a  hint  and  his  quick  intuition 
supplies  the  rest.  The  guests  at  a  cha-seki  are  sometimes 
entertained  by  professional  story  tellers.  Especially  clever 
are  the  Kowairo,  or  "the-tone-of-the-voice"  men,  who  imi- 
tate the  voice,  gestures  and  acting  of  a  celebrated  actor. 
The  cha-seki  in  Japanese  society  may  thus  be  said  to  supply 
the  place  of  our  art  clubs  and  literary  circles. 

The  second  style  of  tea  ceremony  is  known  as  the  cJia-no- 
yu,  which  means  boiling-hot  tea  water.  Young  Japan  has 
outgrown  this  social  custom  and  it  is  rarely  practised  at 
present,  excepting  among  the  most  conservative  lovers  of 
old  Japan.  The  ceremony  was  introduced  from  China  in 
the  8th  century,  but  it  did  not  begin  to  flourish  until  it  was 
developed  and  made  a  solemn  social  function  by  the  mag- 
nificent 8th  Shogun  of  the  Ashikanga  dynasty. 

There  are  two  tea  houses  in  Kyoto,  built  for  this  ceremony 
by  the  shoguns  of  this  line,  which  must  have  been  marvels 
of  beauty.  They  are  named  respectively  the  gold  and  the 
silver  pavilions,  from  the  style  of  their  decorations.  The 


io  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

size  of  the  tea  room  as  prescribed  by  the  devotees  of  the  art 
was  four  mats.  It  was  always  situated  in  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, to  which  its  sides  were  open.  The  decorations  of  the 
tea  room  as  well  as  the  arrangement  of  the  garden  were 
prescribed  by  rule  and  were  simple,  harmonious  and  of  a 
subdued  beauty,  calculated  to  inspire  lofty  and  noble  sen- 
timents. The  houses  of  all  the  older  nobility  contain  tea 
rooms  and  gardens  used  exclusively  for  the  cha-no-yu. 

The  peculiar  pottery  used  in  the  tea  ceremony  is  kept  in 
these  families  as  a  precious  possession.  It  is  known  as 
raku-yaki  or  happiness  pottery,  as  the  Chinese  character 
raku  indicates.  T1  ere  is  but  one  family  in  Japan  who 
makes  and  bakes  the  ware.  The  Korean  ancestor  of  this 
family  settled  in  Kyoto  under  the  great  general  Hideyoshi 
in  1550.  Specimens  of  the  original  Korean  raku  are  price- 
less, and  are  only  to  be  found  in  the  godowns  of  the  most 
noble  Japanese  families.  The  color  of  the  tea  bowls  may 
be  black,  yellow  or  stone  color.  They  are  glazed,  and 
slightly,  if  at  all,  decorated.  The  pate*  is  coarse,  and  the 
impress  of  the  potter's  hands  may  be  clearly  seen.  There 
is  a  peculiar  over-hanging  rim  to  the  bowls  and  a  well  de- 
fined raised  line  about  half  way  between  the  top  and  bot- 
tom. The  tea  caddy,  also  of  rdk.u  ware,  is,  like  the  precious 
bowls,  kept  in  beautiful  brocade  or  embroidered  bags,  when 
not  in  use.  In  arranging  the  room  for  the  tea  ceremony  the 
host  himself  attends  to  the  minutest  details.  In  a  bronze 
brazier  he  places  the  living  coals,  and  over  the  coals  a 
wrought-iron  kettle  of  rare  workmanship;  beside  the  bra- 
zier is  a  low  stand,  on  top  of  which  he  carefully  puts  the 
precious  black  tea  caddy  filled  with  the  powdered  tea.  Un- 
der the  stand  is  a  covered  bowl  of  the  freshest  and  purest 
water,  and  a  tiny  new  wooden  dipper  lies  beside  it.  The 
bowls  in  the  brocade  covers  are  placed  in  front  and  the  tea 
whisk  and  fresh  towels  lie  in  their  appointed  places.  There 
is.  in  addition  to  the  regular  tea  bowls,  a  lipped  bowl  into 
which  the  boiling  water  is  first  poured  from  the  kettle  to 
cool  it  to  the  proner  degree  for  making  the  tea — boiling 
water  is  never  used.  There  are  always  two  less  tea  bowls 
than  the  number  of  invited  guests. 

The  room  being  arranged,  the  host,  in  his  winged  ceremo- 
nial dress,  awaits  his  guests.  They  arrive  at  twelve  o'clock 
and  are  received  by  the  host  on  his  knees.  The  salutation 
of  bowing  several  times  until  the  forehead  touches  the  floor, 
is  exchanged  with  each  guest  according  to  his  rank.  All 
then  enter  the  tea  room  and  seat  themselves  in  rows  facing 
each  other.  It  is  impossible  to  enter  into  the  details  of  the 
making  and  serving  of  the  ten.  It  is  a  nrocess  which  re- 
nnires  a  two  years  course  to  master,  Every  turn  of  the  wrist 
and  pvpry  motion  of  the  body.in  making1  antf  Henri  up1  the  tea, 
must  be  made  in  accordance  with  laws  laid  down  bv  the 


THE  CHA-NO-YU.  // 

great  master  of  this  almost  religious  ceremony.  The  guests 
have  their  parts  to  perform,  and  must  receive  and  drink  the 
tea  as  prescribed.  The  conversation  is  confined  to  elaborate 
compliments  and  to  the  utterance  of  noble  and  lofty  senti- 
ments. 

An  important  part  of  the  ceremony  consists  in  the  inspec- 
tion of  the  tea  service.  While  this  is  being  done  the  host 
must  leave  the  room,  that  he  may  not  hear  his  possessions 
praised.  Incense  is  burned  during  the  entertainment,  and 
as  incense  burning  is  an  art  which  can  not  be  mastered  un- 
der six  months,  the  ceremony  is  elaborate.  At  intervals 
fish  and  soup  are  served.  These  two  dishes  are  the  only 
ones  permitted  at  the  cha-no-yu.  Warm  sake,  rice  wine,  is 
taken  at  intervals,  and  during  the  last  half  hour  of  this 
function,  which  lasts  about  four  hours,  the  guests  relax 
etiquette  and  smoke  their  tiny  pipes.  Finally  the  guests  be- 
gin the  extravagant  compliments  prior  to  the  formal  fare- 
well, and  the  host  returns  thanks  for  the  pleasure  of  their 
honorable  company  and  beseeches  pardon  for  the  abomi- 
nable meanness  of  the  entertainment.  The  foreheads  touch 
the  floor  again  and  again  as  each  guest  departs,  strict  prece- 
dence in  rank  being  always  observed. 

The  progressive  society  of  Japan  has  modified  the  rigid 
etiquette  of  the  tea  ceremony,  until  it  has  become  in  most 
cases  a  refined  and  polite  prelude  to  their  formal  dinner 
parties,  even  in  this  form  it  becoming  rarer  every  year.  The 
rJw-no-yu  at  w^ich  I  assisted  in  the  capacity  of  a  much  mys- 
tified guest,  was  not  nearly  so  elaborate  as  the  one  I  have 
tried  to  describe.  It  was  performed  by  the  Marquise  of 
Nabeshima,  who  is  celebrated  in  Tokyo  for  her  knowledge 
of  the  fine  points  of  the  art.  To  me  it  seemed  like  a  delsarte 
exhibition.  The  tiny  silk-clad  figure  with  its  elaborate  coif- 
fen  r  and  irorgeous  obi,  swayed  to  and  fro  in  graceful 
curves,  and  the  delight  with  which  our  Japanese  friends 
followed  the  rhythmical  motions  showed  that  there  are  fields 
of  enjoyment  open  to  the  Japanese  of  which  we  can  form  no 
conception.  There  was  but  one  flaw  in  the  artistic  per- 
formance. Etiquette  prescribes  that  the  tea  cup,  held  in 
both  hands,  shall  be  gracefully  and  slowly  raised  to  the  lips 
and  drnnk  in  three  Ion?,  lingering  draughts.  The  Japanese 
make  these  three  draughts  as  audible  as  possible — they  are 
swallowed,  in  fact,  with  a  lond  sucking  sound — the  more 
polite  the  drinker,  the  louder  the  noise  he  makes.  I  did  my 
best  to  perform  my  part,  but  had  to  confess  that  my  feeble 
imitation  of  a  Japanese  countess  on  my  left  betrayed  be- 
vond  doubt  that  I  was  not  to  the  manor  born. 


12 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


A  SENTIMENTALIST, 

Bv 
CDNAH  ROBINSON. 


It  was  in  church  that  De  Ruyter  first  saw  her.  He  had 
drifted  into  St.  Mary's  Cathedral  one  morning  attracted  by 
a  notice  of  an  exceptionally  fine  musical  programme.  The 
music  was  good  and  he  fell  under  its  influence  almost  im- 
mediately; it  thrilled  yet  soothed  him.  The  long  rolling 
chords  swept  away  his  week-day  mood,  and  wafted  him  into 
that  state  which  we  are  so  apt  to  call  spiritual  when  in  fact 
the  spirit  lies  deafened  by  sound,  stifled  by  sense — satisfac- 
tion. 

The  effect  of  the  music  was  afterwards  almost  dispelled 
by  the  long-winded  arguments  of  an  old  priest  who  tedious- 
ly demonstrated  for  upwards  of  an  hour  the  almost  impass- 
able distance  between  his  mind  and  that  of  his  hearers. 
During  the  tiresome  discourse,  several  persons  got  up  and 
left  the  church,  and  then,  through  the  gap  made  in  the 
front  pews,  De  Ruyter  saw  her.  Her  eyes  were  lifted  rev- 
erently, and  the  stained  light  falling  on  her  face  brought 
out  warm  tints  in  cheeks  and  hair.  To  De  Ruyter  she 
looked  like  a  St.  Cecilia  while  she  listened  with  upward  gaze 
as  the  old  priest  ambled  helplessly  along  dusty  roads  of 
logic,  into  choked  paths  of  faith. 

That  he  should  be  grateful  to  the  preacher  for  his  un- 
doubted skill  in  winding  out  to  the  uttermost  end  a  thin 
thread  of  thought,  De  Ruyter  began  to  feel  vaguely,  for 
when  the  sermon  was  done,  the  service  would  soon  end,  and 
she  would  go.  He  wished  he  knew  who  she  was,  and  for 
the  first  time  regret  crossed  his  mind  for  the  past  unsocia- 
bility  which  had  prevented  an  extensive  acquaintance  in  San 
Francisco.  She  was  undoubtedly  well  known;  with  that 
face  no  woman  could  live  unrecognized  in  any  community. 
He  would  find  out  at  the  Club,  and  then  he  would  meet  her, 

and  then .  De  Ruyter  was  fast  lapsing  into  senility 

when  a  sudden  stillness  cut  into  his  reverie.  The  priest  had 
stopped  for  lack  of  breath.  Then  the  organ  again  shook  the 
Cathedral,  and  voices  in  which  there  was  nothing  of  earth, 
rose  higher  and  higher  towards  the  heaven  they  sang  of. 

A  more  vital  ecstasy  thrilled  De  Ruyter,  and  his  pulse 


1 4  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

beat  unsteadily.  As  he  watched  her,  over  her  face  a  shadow 
seemed  to  creep,  and  he  could  have  sworn  that  there  were 
tears  in  the  most  wonderful  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 

When  the  service  was  over,  he  lingered  at  the  door.  As 
she  passed,  her  glance  fell  on  him  for  an  instant,  and  then 
back  to  her  companions.  He  stumbled  out  of  the  church 
and  started  for  the  Club.  Just  as  he  had  dreamed,  so  he 
had  found  her  in  a  crowd,  had  recognized  her,  and  she  had 
passed  him  by.  He  could  scarcely  believe  it,  but  did  not  for 
an  instant  doubt  the  truth  of  his  intuition.  He  would  find 
her,  but  first  of  all  he  would  tell  Cunningham ;  it  was  queer 
after  the  talk  they  had  had.  The  night  before  he  had  dined 
with  an  old  college  chum  at  the  Club;  for  ten  years  their 
hands  had  not  met.  In  the  midst  of  their  reminiscences, 
Cunningham  grew  mirthful.  "Have  you 'met  her  yet,  Vail?" 
he  asked.  "The  impossible  she?  Or  are  you  still  waiting?" 

"I  have  never  met  the  woman  I  could  marry,"  De  Ruyter 
answered  frankly.  "When  you  come  to  analyze  that  con- 
fession, though,  it  is  not  derogatory  to  the  other  sex,  for  I 
know  no  women  at  all.  I  never  did.  You  know  that,  Fred." 

"I  thought  that  time  would  brush  off  the  romance,"  said 
Cunningham.  "I  have  strong  recollections  of  a  college 
chum  of  mine  who  used  to  rant  against  what  he  called  easy 
marriages  or  neighborhood  matches.  In  fact,  I  have  some 
of  his  ebullitions  in  verse  on  the  subject — 'The  Only  She,' 
'His  Spirit's  Fittest  Mate' — Ah,  Vail?  Confess  you  were 
wrong,  old  chap,  or  green.  In  this  prosy  world  our  ideals 
don't  materialize.  We  just  take  the  best  we  can  get." 

"How  is  your  cousin?"  asked  de  Ruyter  irrelevantly. 
"Your  wife,  I  mean.  And  the  bairns?" 

"Ella's  been  sickly  ever  since  we  were  married,"  Cun- 
ningham spoke  briefly.  "New  York  doesn't  agree  with  her 
or  the  children.  But,  of  course,  we  can't  break  up  for  that. 
All  my  interests  are  there.  So  the  last  four  years  we  have 
arranged  it  pretty  well.  She  srays  six  months  in  the  coun- 
try, and  stores  up  enough  health  to  last  through  the  half 
year  in  town.  But  we  are  happy  enough.  Happier,  I  guess, 
than  the  majority  of  married  people  who  are  always  to- 
gether." Cunningham's  face  had  darkened. 

"What  good  old  times  those  were,  Fred,"  de  Ruyter  said, 
hastily.  "How  you  bring  it  all  back.  All  the  talks  that 
used  to  last  half  through  the  night,  when  we  philosophized 
of  love  and  women  as  if  we  knew  all  that  was  to  be  known 
on  the  subject." 

"But  you  were  really  the  sentimentalist,"  said  Cunning- 
ham, "although  you  declared  it  was  I.  You  moped  more 
over  your  romantic  illusions  than  I  on  all  the  pretty  girls 
who  kept  me  continuously  on  the  rack.  I  shall  never  for- 
get one  of  the  sermons  you  preached.  I  was  pretty  far  gone 
on  some  girl.  It  was  Daisy  Kent.  Do  you  remember  her, 


A  SENTIMENTALIST.  75 

Vail?  And  I  declared  I  would  marry  her.  Did  I  care  that 
she  was  poor?  I  had  enough  for  two.  What  difference  did 
it  make  to  me  that  her  parents  were  not  Vere  de  Veres,  if 
she  was  a  thoroughbred?  Finally  you  lost  patience  and 
burst  out.  I  can  see  it  all  now.  How  you  threw  the  book 
you  had  been  reading  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and 
then  jumped  to  your  feet.  "Mate  like  a  dog  and  die!'  you 
cried.  'God  in  Heaven,  man,  can't  you  see  it?  It's  the 
fever  of  loving  you  have.  It's  Daisy  to-day,  and  another 
next  month.  Can't  you  have  patience  and  wait  for  the  right 
one?  There  is  certainly  a  right  one  waiting  somewhere  for 
you.  Of  course  you  will  meet  her.  Your  paths  cross  some- 
where, and  you  must  meet  sooner  or  later.  May  be  Daisy 
is  the  right  one,  but  then,  would  you  oifer  her  the  heart 
that  served  another  only  last  month?  Pshaw!  Fred.  Give 
her  a  year,  and  see  if  you're  right.'  So  I  did  wait  a  year." 

"Yes,  a  year,"  mocked  de  Ruyter.  "And  married — some 
one  else." 

Cunningham  winced.  "Well,  I  must  confess  you  have 
lived  up  to  your  precepts,"  he  retorted. 

De  Ruyter  laughed  ruefully.  "I  guess  I  have  waited  too 
long.  Before  this  she  must  have  grown  tired  of  waiting 
for  me,  and  married  one  of  her  neighbors.  The  worst  of  it 
is  that  loyalty  may  have  so  blinded  and  bound  her  spirit 
eyes  that  she  may  not  recognize  me  even  if  I  jog  her  elbow 
as  I  pass  on  in  the  crowd." 

"I  believe  that  you  will  pass  her  by  in  the  crowd  and 
look  right  over  her  head.  Or  are  you  looking  for  a  vision 
a  la  Marguerite?" 

De  Ruyter  laughed,  but  did  not  answer,  as  he  filled  his 
glass  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  "Here  is  to  her  speedy  com- 
ing," he  said,  soberly.  "And  may  she  come  single!" 

Cunningham  threw  a  covert,  questioning  glance  at  his 
friend.  He  never' quite  knew  how  to  take  de  Ruyter.  "Do 
you  know  the  Delorme's  of  San  Mateo?"  he  asked.  "I  have 
letters  to  them." 

"I  know  Rossiter  Delorme,"  de  Ruyter  answered.  "But 
none  of  the  women.  He  belongs  to  the  Club.  You'd  be 
surprised,  Fred,  if  you  knewr  how  few  people  I  know  here 
after  living  ten  years  in  San  Francisco.  No  women  at  all, 
and  besides  the  men  I  have  met  in  business,  only  those  at 
the  Club.  It  has  taken  all  my  time  trying  to  make  a  com- 
fortable living  for  myself.  You  know  I  always  said  I  would 
work  first  and  play  only  when  I  had  made  enough  to  afford 
and  enjoy  it.  I  suppose  I  might  go  in  for  cotillions  and 
that  sort  of  thing  now,  as,  confidentially,  I  have  been  pretty 
lucky,  and  am  rather  well  fixed.  But  the  lazy  habit's  too 
strong.  I  vibrate  between  the  Club  and  my  office,  and  the 
life  suits  me  first  rate." 

Cunningham  did  not  appear  to  be  listening,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  back  to  de  Ruyter  as  he  paused. 


1 6  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

"It  is  a  significant  fact,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  of  all  the 
old  set  at  college  you  are  the  only  one  who  has  had  the 
courage  or  obstinacy  to  live  up  to  his  own  resolutions  and 
convictions.  We  all  had  our  notions,  but  we  let  circum- 
stances mould  our  lives.  You  will  get  just  what  you  make 
up  your  mind  to  want,  Vail,  old  boy." 

De  Euyter  had  laughed  at  the  prophecy,  but  to-day  it  re- 
curred to  him.  Now  he  knew  what  he  wanted;  the  next 
thing  was  to  get  it.  At  the  Club  he  met  Cunningham. 
"Fred,"  he  said  with  boyish  directness.  "I  have  seen  her 
at  last  and  she  has  seen  me.  She  is  more  beautiful  than 
even  I  had  fancied  her.  Her  name?  That  is  just  what  I 
want  to  find  out.  I  have  not  yet  met  her.  But  I  will." 

"Of  course  you  will,"  Cunningham  responded.  "I  expect 
to  hear  all  about  it  when  I  come  back  from  Honolulu.  Yes, 
I  am  going  to-inorrow.  1  will  bring  you  back  a  wedding 
present,  old  chap.  Hope  I  won't  be  too  late  for  the  cere- 
mony." 

In  the  weeks  following,  de  Ruyter  developed  a  love  for 
crowds.  He  never  missed  a  night  at  the  theatre,  and  Sun- 
day always  found  him  behind  two  grey  horses  in  the  park, 
for  whose  roads  he  entertained  a  sudden  affection.  One 
afternoon  he  was  returning  from  a  brisk  drive  to  the  Ocean 
Beach,  when  he  grasped  the  arm  of  his  companion. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  asked  with  suppressed  eagerness. 
"Behind  the  blacks — gong  towards  the  Beach?" 

Blake  turned  his  head.  "That's  Mrs.  S.  Thorn  Potter 
and  her  sister,  Miss  Lanier.  Don't  you  know  them?  But 
you  are  such  an  unsociable  wretch.  My  mother  and  sisters 
have  about  given  up  trying  to  get  you  to  come  to  the  house. 
They  think  with  the  rest  of  us,  that  a  man  of  your  means 
and  attainments  would  be  a  great  acquisition  to  the  so- 
ciable world." 

"I  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  make  my  debut  this 
winter,"  de  Ruyter  said,  hurriedly,  and  then  changed  the 
subject  with  a  jest. 

After  that  it  was  strange  how  often  de  Ruyter  ran  across 
Miss  Lanier  and  her  sister,  or  saw  their  names  in  the  paper. 
Their  every  movement  was  chronicled  with  religious  sol- 
emnity. They  were  returning  from  San  Rafael,  or  giving  a 
dinner  or  contemplating  a  short  trip  to  Monterey  or  Santa 
Barbara. 

He  saw  them  several  times  from  a  distance  at  the  theatre, 
and  once  had  stumbled  against  her  in  the  Palace  Hotel. 
After  that  last  encounter,  he  had  walked  for  days  as  one 
in  a  dream.  His  sentiment  towards  women  had  always 
partaken  of  more  of  the  chivalry  of  the  fifteenth  than  of 
the  realism  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Of  this,  a  little  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  women  had  played  such  a  small  part 
in  his  life.  His  mother  had  died  in  his  babyhood ;  the  only 


A  SENTIMENTALIST.  17 

sisters  he  claimed,  he  owed  to  his  two  brothers'  choice  and 
discretion,  and  even  those  he  had  never  met. 

Miss  Lanier  he  had  deified  in  the  few  short  weeks  since 
he  had  first  seen  her.  She  was  the  embodiment  of  his 
dreams  of  womanhood.  Nothing  about  her  had  escaped 
his  notice.  A  fancy  of  hers  it  was  to  wear  white  flowers — 
carnations,  hyacinths,  violets — but  always  white;  this  it 
pleased  de  Ruyter  to  take  as  a  symbol.  A  great  longing 
was  growing  up  in  him  to  meet  her,  hear  her  voice;  then 
barriers  need  there  be  none;  for  his  will  was  stronger 
than  all. 

As  soon  as  he  had  evinced  his  newly-born  social  inclina- 
tion, invitations  commenced  to  pour  in  upon  him,  and  the 
same  grim  adherence  to  a  set  purpose  that  made  him  accept 
them  all,  carried  him  to  the  first  big  ball  of  the  season. 
After  paying  his  respects  to  his  hostess,  he  had  gone  down 
to  the  ball-room,  and  was  listlessly  watching  the  dancers 
when  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap.  She  was  there.  And 
the  next  thought  followed  quick  at  its  heels;  he  would 
meet  her.  In  evening  dress,  Miss  Lanier  was  a  revelation 
to  de  Ruyter,  who  had  never  so  seen  her.  Her  slender  fig- 
ure was  draped  in  filmy  white  stuff,  that  did  not  reproach 
the  whiteness  of  neck  and  shoulders  from  which  it  fell.  A 
large  bunch  of  her  favorite  white  flowers  was  in  her  hand. 

De  Ruyter  watched  her  as  she  mingled  with  the  crowd 
of  dancers  until  his  head  spun.  When  the  dance  was  over, 
he  pulled  a  friend's  arm.  "I  want  you  to  present  me  to  Miss 
Lanier,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  thick.  His  friend  turned 
and  looked  at  him. 

"Miss  Lanier  is  not  here  to-night.  She  told  me  this  after- 
noon she  was  not  coming.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Potter,  was  to 
be  here,  although  I  have  not  yet  seen  her." 

De  Ruyter  leaned  against  the  wall.  What  an  ass  he  had 
been.  He  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  she  was  Miss 
Lanier.  Jove,  so  she  was  married!  Why  the  deuce  had  not 
Blake  told  him.  But  it  was  all  his  own  fault.  He  had 
jumped  at  conclusions.  It  served  him  right.  Who  else 
but  a  fool  would  have  allowed  himself  to  drift  into  a  pas- 
sion so  quixotically  for  an  unknown.  He  would  lau^h  at 
himself  to-morrow. 

His  friend  returned  to  where  he  was  standing.  "Miss 
Lanier  is  here  after  all.  Yes,  the  one  over  there  all  in 
white.  Was  she  there  when  you  spoke?  I  beg  your  pardon. 
Home  right  along  and  I'll  present  you." 

De  Ruyter  managed  to  get  through  the  introduction.  He 
afterwards  wondered  if  he  really  had  begged  for  a  dance. 
But  there  it  was.  The  tenth  dance  was  to  be  his.  and  only 
three  in  between. 

He  stood  by  the  door  and  watched  her  as  she  seemed  to 
set  the  time  for  the  music.  At  last  the  hour  he  had 


18  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

for  so  long  had  come.  What  a  brute  face  that  mail  had 
who  was  dancing  with  her.  De  Ruyter  conceived  a  strong 
antipathy  to  him.  Two  more  dances.  Had  she  recognized 
him,  remembered  his  face?  He  thought  that  she  had.  He 
would  see  that  from  now  on  she  would  not  forget  him.  He 
was  hers,  do  or  say  what  she  would.  One  more  dance.  Now 
he  regretted  that  he  had  paid  so  little  attention  to  dancing 
the  last  decade.  He  had  been  a  fairly  good  dancer.  But 
there  were  many  men  in  the  room  he  knew  could  outstep 
him.  His  dance  at  last,  and  somehow  de  Kuyter  found 
himself  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  Miss  Lanier.  His 
arm  was  around  her,  her  hand  was  in  his,  and  they  were 
together,  waltzing  down  t..e  years,  no  the  room.  Their  step 
suited  perfectly.  Was  it  prophetic  of  their  mutual  fitness? 
And  then  he  felt  ashamed.  Fitness?  Who  could  be  fit  for 
such  as  she?  All  his  past  slips  and  falls  rose  up  to  jeer  at 
him.  He  glanced  down  at  her  once,  but  she  did  not  raise 
her  eyes,  although  some  emotion  crossed  her  face.  De  Kuy- 
ter easily  interpreted  it.  His  strong  feeling  had  trans- 
mitted itself  to  her.  There  was  no  need  for  words,  for  she 
knew  how  he  felt  and  understood. 

He  was  dancing  into  the  heart  of  Elysium  when  the  band 
crashed  and  the  dance  was  over.  De  Kuyter  started  as  if 
awakened  from  a  deep  sleep,  and  with  the  gait  of  a  drunken 
man,  he  led  her  back  to  her  seat.  One  of  her  carnations 
slipped  from  her  fingers.  De  Kuyter  stooped  hastily,  and 
before  putting  it  in  his  button-hole,  pressed  it  fervently  to 
his  lips.  A  great  light  shone  in  Miss  Lanier's  eyes,  and  she 
turned  her  head  suddenly  away. 

De  Ruyter  went  up  to  the  smoking-room.  He  felt  he 
could  not  stand  seeing  her  in  the  arms  of  those  brutes.  He 
knew  them — that  is,  most  of  them ;  knew  the  lives  that  they 
led,  the  fibre  they  were  made  of.  That  she,  his  spotless 
white  flower,  should  be  crushed  in  their  embraces,  soiled 
by  their  touch,  maddened  him.  Then  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  had  not  asked  her  for  another  dance.  But  he 
would  go  down  later;  and  then  he  would  make  her  speak 
to  him.  He  had  never  even  heard  her  voice,  his  silent 
sweetheart.  It  would  be  clear,  and  sweet — yes,  as  sweet  as 
her  face.  Several  cigars  burned  themselves  out  as  he  sat, 
and  through  the  smoke  he  felt  that  several  people  had 
spoken  to  him,  but  they  whispered  so  low  he  had  not  heard. 
And  by  and  by  they  had  faded  away. 

He  was  getting  up  to  go  down  to  the  ball-room,  when  a 
tap  fell  on  his  shoulders. 

"Well,  yon  are  an  unsociable  fellow,  de  Ruyter,"  a  voice 
said  familiarly.  "Why  are  you  not  down  dancing?  Having 
the  greatest  time.  Been  to  supper  yet?  Just  come  from 
there.  Took  Miss  Lanier  in.  You  know  her?  Isn't  she 
witty?  But  sharp,  too.  I  would  not  like  to  have  her  slice 


A  SENTIMENTALIST.  19 

me  up  as  she  did  a  poor  fellow  to-night.  She  won't  tell  us 
his  name,  but  I  think  I  can  guess.  She  just  convulsed  us. 
A  capital  mimic.  It  seems  a  man  was  presented  to  her.  He 
was  such  a  piteous  spectacle  that  she  gave  him  a  dance 
without  the  asking.  When  the  dance  came,  he  came  up 
prompt  as  a  clock,  but  as  dumb  as  the  grave.  Miss  Lanier 
was  puzzled  to  know  if  he  really  was  dumb.  She  com- 
menced to  fear  he  was  drunk.  You  should  see  her  take 
off  the  way  he  looked  at  her.  She  said  that  once  he  nearly 
caught  her  laughing,  but  I  guess  he  didn't.  She's  such  a 
capital  actress.  The  best  amateur  in  town.  Why,  I  have 
seen  her  take  parts  that  would  bring  tears  from  a  stone, 
which  has  really  more  heart  than  she  can  lay  claim  to. 
That's  the  only  thing  she  lacks,  for  she  is  as  cold  as  an 
icicle.  Where  was  I?  If  you  can  believe  it,  not  a  word 
did  they  say  that  whole  waltz  through.  She  kept  up  the 
farce  finely,  and  looked  as  demure  as  a  sweet-sixteen 
maiden.  When  it  was  over  she  dropped  one  of  her  flowers 
to  see  what  he  would  do.  He  kissed  it  and  then  pressed  it 
to  his  heart,  so  melodramatically  that  Miss  Lanier  had  to 
hide  her  face.  O,  she's  such  a  good  mimic.  I  think  it  was 
young  Delorme.  He's  just  been  taken  home — half  seas  over. 
There  is  Jones.  I  must  tell  him.  See  you  later." 

A  minute  after  the  cold  air  greeted  de  Ruyter  as  he 
slipped  out  of  the  crowded  hall.  He  walked  along  Franklin 
street,  but  did  not  hail  a  car  at  any  of  the  crossings.  At 
Post  street  he  turned  down  towards  town.  He  preferred  to 
walk.  He  wanted  to  be  alone  for  a  while.  How  cold  the 
wind  was.  The  weather  had  changed.  He  should  have 
worn  his  heaviest  overcoat.  But  a  hot  drink  at  the  Club 
would  fix  him  all  right. 

Cunningham  called  him  from  the  reading-room  as  he 
passed. 

"Was  waiting  up  just  to  see  you,  Vail.  You  are  home 
early.  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I  was  back.  I  brought 
you  your  wedding  present,  old  fellow." 

De  Ruyter  put  up  his  hand  as  if  to  stop  him. 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  it,  or  shall  I  keep  it  as  a  sur- 
prise? When  is  it  coming  off,  Vail?  Hang  it,  I  hope  noth- 
ing's gone  wrong.  You  look  as  if  you  had  just  come  from 
her  funeral." 

"I  have,"  said  de  Ruyter,  and  he  threw  into  the  grate  a 
white  carnation  he  had  been  crushing  in  his  hand. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BELLS, 


Bv 
CHARLES  A.  KEELER. 

(Mission  San  Juan  Capistrano.) 

First  Bell. 

Ave  Maria  Purissima!  hear! 
Seventeen  ninety  and  six  was  the  year 
When  I  was  hung  in  the  tower  of  stone, 
Singing  aloft  in  a  solemn  tone, 
Sending  the  summons  for  miles  around 
That  all  might  list  to  the  welcome  sound. 
Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 
Thus  the  bells  of  the  Mission  sing. 

Second  Bell. 

Vicente  Fuster  was  padre  when  I 
Was  swung  in  the  great  church  tower  on  high, 
And  my  metal  tongue  in  its  brazen  throat 
Sounded  its  first  triumphant  note, 
Blent  with  the  sacred  song  within 
And  my  sister's  voice  in  a  mighty  din. 
Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 
Thus  the  bells  of  the  Mission  sing. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BELLS.  21 

Third  Bell. 

I  was  inscribed  to  San  Rafael, 
And  I  pealed,  men  said,  like  a  silver  bell, 
When  high  in  the  belfry  I  proudly  hung, 
And  a  note  was  struck  with  my  eager  tongue, 
Heard  by  the  Indian  mother  and  child, 
By  soldier  stern  and  by  padre  mild. 
Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 
Thus  the  bells  of  the  Mission  sing. 

Fourth  Bell. 

Last  of  the  bells  in  the  high  church  tower, 
Farthest  from  men  and  supremest  in  power, 
Ave  Maria  Purissima!  lo! 
Men  called  me  San  Antonio, 
And  I  rang  aloft  where  the  stars  could  hear, 
And  I  called  with  the  name  of  my  mother  dear. 
Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 
Thus  the  bells  of  the  Mission  sing. 

All  the  Bells. 

Morning  and  evening  for  many  a  year 
We  summoned  the  people  from  far  and  near, — 
Summoned  the  herder  who  left  his  flock, 
Called  the  vaquero  away  from  his  stock, — 
Indian  mother  and  Mexican  maid 
Fondly,  the  summons  to  prayer,  obeyed. 
Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 
Thus  tlie  bells  of  the  Mission  sing. 

Till  ah,  we  called  on  an  evil  hour! 

For  the  temblor  came  and  it  rent  our  tower, 

And  down  we  fell  with  a  crash  and  a  clang — 

With  the  cries  of  the  stricken  the  sad  church  rang! 

Then  they  lifted  us  up  to  toll  for  the  dead, 

And  drear  were  our  notes  while  the  mass  was  said. 

Toll,  toll,  stifled  and  slow — 

Thus  the  bells  voiced  a  people's  woe. 

Such  were  the  songs  of  our  ancient  prime, 

But  oh  the  havoc  and  waste  of  time! 

For  the  years,  the  years  with  their  pitiless  train, 

Have  heard  our  pleadings  and  prayers  in  vain; 

They  have  filled  the  graves  in  the  church  yard  lone, 

And  crumbled  the  arches  and  scattered  the  stone. 

Kling,  klang,  clatter  and  ring — 

Our  throats  are  cracked  and  we  seldom  sing. 


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EXTRACTS    FROn    THE    WRITINGS    OF 
FRANK  M.  PIXLEY. 


We  are  apt  to  make  life  altogether  too  serious.  If  we 
should  wake  up  in  t.  e  next  world  and  find  there  was  none, 
we  should  have  occasion  to  reproach  ourselves  for  many 
neglected  opportunities  for  a  good  time  lost.  We  are  too 
ambitious  to  get  rich.  And  if  there  is  another  and  a  hotter 
world  ti.an  this,  those  of  our  restless,  overreaching,  toiling 
rich  men,  who  find  themselves  where  their  gold  is  melting 
and  water  is  scarce,  may  regret  that  they  did  not  make  bet- 
ter use  of  tiieir  money  in  a  country  where  it  was  current, 
and  at  a  time  when  it  was  at  par.  It  was  the  evident  in- 
tention of  the  Creator  to  make  the  life  of  His  creatures  an 
enjoyable  and  pleasant  one.  To  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fis'ies 
He  gave  the  air  and  earth,  and  water  for  their  enjoyment; 
to  them  He  gave  but  one  care — that  of  procuring  food  for 
themselves  and  for  their  young — and  the  young  are  not  too 
long  permitted  to  depend  upon  the  parents'  care.  To  man 
he  gave  dominion  over  the  earth;  and,  through  art  and 
science,  skill,  labor  and  industry,  he  is  to  subject  it  to  his 
use.  That  use  is  for  the  advancement  of  his  pleasure,  for 
healthful,  rational  enjoyment.  Tl:e  man  or  woman  who 
does  not  make  that  use  of  life  is  unnatural  and  ungrate- 
ful, as  wicked  and  absurd  as  the  well-fed  bird  who  sits  in 
the  sun  and  will  not  sing.  And  the  parent  who  does  not 
delight  in  seeing  children  enjoy  themselves  is  as  unnatural 
as  the  austere  sheep  who  sulks  and  frowns  when  lambkins 
sport  upon  the  meadow  in  the  sunlight.  There  is  more  sun- 
shine than  shadow,  if  we  only  look  for  it;  there  are  more 
gay  things  than  grave  things;  there  is  more  of  music,  and 
melody,  and  joy,  and  gladness  in  the  natural  universe  than 
there  is  of  sad  and  solemn  sound  and  gloomy  sight.  The 
bright  and  glorious  orb  around  which  our  earth  revolves 
has  only  here  and  there  a  dark  spot  upon  its  shining  sur- 
face; the  moon  is  always  half  in  light  and  reflects  more  of 
sunshine  than  shadow;  the  stars  are  ever  bright,  and  when 
hidden  by  the  darkness  of  intervening  clouds,  these  are  sil- 
ver lined.  T  ere  are 

"Books  in  the  running  brooks; 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

There  is  music  in  the  rustling  wind,  the  babbling  stream. 


24  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

the  insects'  breathing  hum,  the  song  of  birds  and  the  whirr 
of  cities;  solemn  anthems  sung  in  forest  leaves,  and  sub- 
limest  melody  from  the  ocean's  wave.  There  are  grand 
paintings  by  the  Master  hung  upon  the  arching  vault  as  t,ie 
sunset  lingers  on  our  western  sky;  scenes  upon  our  hills  as 
they  change  from  emerald  green  to  russet  brown;  more  gor- 
geous landscapes  in  our  valleys  than  Claude  Lorraine  could 
paint;  more  beauties  in  the  heart  of  mountains  than  the 
glowing  pencil  of  the  artist  can  catch  and  transfer  to  can- 
vas. This  is  a  jolly  world  of  ours  if  we  would  make  it  so. 
It  is  a  glorious  life  spread  out  for  our  enjoyment  for  the 
three-score  years  and  ten  of  our  allotment,  if  with  nappy 
hearts  and  cheerful  minds  we  would  make  it  so.  Too  many 
of  us,  ambitious  for  power,  eager  to  grow  rich,  annoyed  by 
small  vexations,  make  life  a  constant  battle  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave. 

"The  pleasure  of  life  in  California,"  said  a  friend  to  us  the 
other  day,  "is  in  its  ups  and  downs — 'rich  to-day  and  not  a 
cent  to-morrow.' ' 

We  met  our  friend  upon  the  middle-ground  of  assent— 
the  half-way  house  on  the  road  of  argument — we  admitted 
the  truth  of  just  half  his  proposition,  which,  being  inter- 
preted, reads  thus:  "The  pleasure  of  life  in  California  is 
its  ups." 

The  idea  that  reverses  are  calculated  to  do  us  good,  to 
work  a  sort  of  moral  regeneration,  and  act  as  a  purifying 
element  to  chasten,  and  improve,  and  elevate  us,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  is  to  us  cheap  sentimentality.  It  is  gurgling 
bosh.  It  is  the  sweet  rippling  of  pious  and  nonsensical  cant. 
It  comes  from  maiden  aunts,  and  meek-faced  Sunday-school 
teachers. 

We  never  stubbed  our  toe,  or  got  a  splinter  in  our  finger 
that  did  us  any  good,  when  we  were  a  boy.  No  bumblebee 
ever  stung  us  up  to  a  point  of  moral  rectitude.  We  never 
recognized  a  broken  sled  as  a  purifying  element  in  a  day's 
sport,  or  looked  upon  a  rain  storm  when  we  wanted  to  go 
to  the  circus  or  general  training  as  a  chastening  and  im- 
proving incident. 

As  we  grew  up  we  never  remember  to  have  been  espec- 
ially benefited  by  the  "downs"  of  life.  It  is  when  we  are 
"up"  that  all  the  better  elements  of  men's  and  women's  nat- 
ure come  to  the  surface.  Then  they  are  gentle,  just  and 
generous,  forgiving,  kind  and  considerate.  When  reverses 
occur,  and  hard,  gaunt-eyed  poverty  comes  stalking  into  a 
man's  home,  they  are  cold,  harsh  and  cruel;  exacting,  sel- 
fish and  inconsiderate. 


GHOSTS.     We  believe  in  ghosts  because  we  have  seen 
them.     We  do  not  think  that  Sargent  stands  a  g^ost  of  a 


WRITING  FROM  FRANK  M.  PIXLEY.     25 

chance  to  be  Senator.  He  thinks  he  does,  so  he  believes  in 
ghosts.  If  there  be  no  ghosts,  how  do  they  troop  home  to 
church-yards  at  midnight?  If  there  were  no  ghosts,  w.iy 
should  fellows  whistle  when  they  go  through  a  grave-yard, 
to  keep  their  courage  up?  If  there  be  no  ghosts,  who,  then, 
haunts  empty  houses?  Wiiat  is  a  Bansaee  but  a  ghost? 
And  everybody  knows  that  Banshees  are  thick  in  Ireland. 
Do  we  not  hear  of  ghostly  confessors?  Spiritualists  believe 
in  ghosts  in  materialization  of  spirits  where  ghosts  assume 
the  shape  of  dead  persons.  We  have  seen  photographs  of 
ghosts,  ghosts  in  cabinets,  with  arms  and  hands  of  real  flesh 
and  blood;  and  then  everybody  knows  there  are  witches. 
All  through  the  records  of  history  there  are  ghosts  and 
witches;  for  instance,  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  Banquo 
and  Hamlet's  father;  the  witches  of  Macbeth.  The  Bible  is 
full  of  ghosts  and  witches,  as  the  Witch  of  Endor.  There 
were  plenty  of  witches  in  Puritan  times.  They  were  seen  by 
Increase  and  Cotton  Mather,  upon  broomsticks,  flying  in  the 
air.  Sir  Matthew  Hale  believed  in  witches.  Unless  there 
were  witches  in  New  England,  how  could  they  be  burned 
and  drowned?  If  witches  do  not  get  into  old  women  and 
swine,  what  makes  some  old  women  act  so,  and  how  can 
one  account  for  the  way  hogs  behave  themselves?  Young 
women  get  bewitched  and  bewitch  men.  We  have  seen  old 
men  so  badly  bewitched  by  women  that  they  acted  as  if 
the  devil  was  in  them. 

There  is  the  witch-hazel  to  find  water  and  gold  with.  We 
ask,  triumphantly,  what  makes  the  twig  bend  and  wiggle 
when  it  is  held  over  a  gold  mine,  if  it  is  not  bewitched? 
Col.  Ingersoll  may  lecture  about  devils,  and  attempt  to 
prove  there  are  no  devils,  but  we  do  not  believe  a  word  of 
it.  If  there  are  no  devils,  then  we  ask  what  makes  people 
act  so  devilish  at  times?  Devils!  Yes,  plenty  of  them. 
How  could  devils  be  cast  out  if  there  were  none?  What  be- 
comes of  that  splendid  poem  of  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  if 
there  are  no  devils?  Who  took  our  Saviour  up  upon  the 
mountain,  and  tempted  him  with  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth?  Who  chased  Tarn  O'Shanter?  Could  St.  George 
have  become  the  Patron  Saint  of  England,  if  he  had  not 
slain  the  dragon;  and  the  dragon  was  the  devil?  Was  not 
Eve  tempted  by  t^e  devil?  Did  not  St.  Patrick  drive  the 
snakes  out  of  Ireland,  and  thus  expel  the  devil  from  Ire- 
land? The  yellow  standard  of  the  Chinese  has  for  its  em- 
blem the  dragon;  all  the  mountains,  lakes,  and  rivers  of 
China  have  their  devils,  and  is  not  every  Chinaman  that 
comes  to  California  a  devil?  Is  not  the  very  devil  to  pay  in 
our  politics?  If  there  were  no  devil,  who  would  take  care  of 
the  Federal  ring.  In  other  words,  does  not  the  devil  care 
for  his  own?  Do  not  people  have  blue  devils  when  times 
are  hard?  Does  not  t^e  stock  market  get  the  very  devil  in 


26  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

it?  What  is  delirium  tremens  but  the  devil  in  a  fellow's 
boots;  and  if  a  husband  comes  home  at  night  late,  and 
slightly  inebriated,  don't  he  catch  the  devil?  What  is  a 
drunken  women  but  the  devil?  What  makes  a  man  abuse 
his  wife? 

"When  the  devil  got  sick  the  devil  a  Monk  would  be; 
When  the  devil  got  well,  the  devil  a  Monk  was  he." 

Then,  if  there  be  a  devil,  there  must  be  a  place  for  him. 

"God  made  Satan,  and  Satan  made  sin; 
God  made  a  hell  to  put  Satan  in." 


There  are  three  things  which  challenge  especial  admira- 
tion and  approval: — brains,  courage  and  conscience.  A 
knave  with  brains  is  better  than  a  fool  without,  though  he 
have  courage  and  conscience.  Courage  without  brains  leads 
fools  where  angels  dare  not  tread.  Conscience  with  scant 
brains  makes  a  goody-goody  sort  of  useless  man,  for  with- 
out courage  he  is  useless  if  riot  dangerous.  Conscience 
alone  preserves  no  man's  integrity,  and  guards  but  poorly 
female  virtue.  Brains,  courage,  and  conscience  make  the 
perfect  man  and  the  model  woman.  From  such  men  and 
women  the  grandest  communities  and  the  proudest  com- 
monwealths may  grow. 


THE  FINAL  GOSPEL. 

Bv  GEORGE  C  WtLSON. 

What  matter,  if  we  search  for  God 

In  ways  no  other  foot  hath  trod? 

What  though  we  deem  He  hears  our  call, 

Or  doubt  if  he  hath  heard,  at  all? 

It  is  the  striving  of  the  soul 

That  is,  itself,  the  very  goal; 

Who  yearns  for  Him,  unceasingly, 

Shall  find— hath  found— for  that  is  He. 

Whoever  tries  to  thread  the  maze 

Of  churchly  doctrines,  or  essays  • 

To  prove  one  absolutely  true, 

To  men  of  every  clime  and  hue — 

Resolved  to  cast  all  others  out — 

Must  learn  to  honor  honest  doubt; 

For,  thought  we  sit  in  neighboring  pews, 

We  hold  diverse  and  warring  views — 

Scarce  two  agreeing,  dot  for  dot, 

What  is  God's  meaning,  or  is  not. 

One  sees  a  God  whose  vengeance  dire 

Foredooms  the  babe  to  endless  fire; 

One  sees  a  gracious,  pard'ning  smile 

For  all  mankind,  despite  its  guile; 

One  holds  the  hampered  human  will 

Accountable  for  every  ill; 

And  one  e'en  doubts  if  Chance  or  God 

Created  him  a  soul,  or  clod. 

But,  best  of  all  is  whose  deeds 

Are  just  and  right  by  all  the  creeds — 

Whom  Christian,  Moslem,  Pagan,  all 

Approve,  whate'er  his  name  they  call; 

Who  grants  that  creeds,  howe'er  received, 

Are  but  beliefs,  howe'er  believed; 

Who  hath  no  quarrel  with  his  friend 

About  his  faith  or  final  end, 

Nor  seeks  to  pry  conviction  loose 

Upon  the  fulcrum  of  abuse; 

Who  neither  boasts  himself  a  saint, 

Nor  damns  the  world  with  loud  complaint; 

Who  meets  contention,  when  he  must, 

With  valiant  front  and  manly  thrust, 

But  trains  his  hand,  and  heart,  and  mind, 

In  love's  sweet  art  of  being  kind; 

Whose  footsteps  part  not  from  his  speech; 

Who  lives  what  others  only  preach — 

Content  to  leave  the  rest  to  Him 

Who  purposely  hath  made  it  dim. 

He  frets  not  that  he  cannot  show 

Those  things  which  none  can  surely  know; 

But  strives  to  do,  as  best  he  can, 

His  duty  to  his  fellow-man — 

And  waits  not  for  some  future  sphere, 

But  tries  to  make  a  Heaven  here. 


After 
Strapqe 
Gods.* 


Bv 

NORRIS. 


This  is  not  my  story.  It  is  the  story  of  my  friend,  Kevv 
Wen  Lung,  the  gong-tui,  wlio  has  his  little  green  and  yellow 
barber  shop  on  Sacramento  street,  and  who  will  shave  you 
for  one  bit,  while  you  hold  the  shaving  bowl  under  your 
chin.  This  price,  however,  includes  the  cleaning  of  the  in- 
side of  your  eyelids  with  a  long  sliver  of  tortoise  shell  held 
ever  so  steadily  between  his  long-nailed  finger  tips.  Kew 
Wen  Lung  told  me  all  about  it  over  three  pipes  in  his  little 
room  back  of  the  shop,  where  a  moon-faced,  old-fashioned, 
eight-day  clock  measured  off  the  length  of  the  telling,  tick- 
ing stolidly  on,  oblivious  to  its  strange  companionship  of 
things  in  lacquer,  sandalwood  and  gilt  ebony. 

There  were  a  great  many  ragged  edges  and  blank  gaps 
in  Kew  Wen  Lung's  story,  which  I  have  been  obliged  to  trim 
off  or  fill  in.  But  in  substance  I  repeat  it  as  I  got  it  first- 
hand from  him — squatting  on  the  edge  of  his  teakwood 
stool,  contentedly  drawing  at  his  brass  sui-yen-hu. 

Of  course  it  was  only  at  the  World's  Fair  that  Rouveroy, 
who  was  a  native  of  a  little  sardine  village  on  the  fringe  of 
the  Brittany  coast,  could  have  met  and  become  so  intimate- 
ly acquainted  with  Lalo  Da,  who,  until  that  same  Colum- 
bian year,  had  passed  her  nineteen  summers  in  and  about  a 
little  straw  and  bamboo  village  built  upon  rafts  in  the  Pei 
Ho  Kiver,  somewhere  between  Pekin  and  Tientsin.  Lalo  Da 
was  not  her  real  name,  but  one  which  Rouveroy  was  accus- 
tomed to  call  her.  Her  real  name  was  unpronounceable  by 
French  lips,  but,  translated  into  English,  I  believe  it  meant 
"The  Light  of  the  Dawn  on  a  White  Rice  Flower." 

Rouveroy  was  a  sailor   before  the    mast  on  the    French 

*Courtesy  of  Overland  Monthly. 


AFTER  STRANGE  GODS.  29 

man-o'-war  "Admiral  Duchesne,"  and  was  detailed  as  a 
guardian  in  the  French  exhibit  of  china  and  tapestry  in  the 
Manufacturers'  Building.  Lalo  Da  belonged  to  the  Ciiinese 
pavilion  in  the  Midway,  and  was  one  of  the  flower  girls  wno 
sold  white  chrysanthemums  in  the  restaurant  there. 

Now,  I  have  seen  Lalo  Da,  and  I  am  not  in  the  least  sur- 
prised at  Kouveroy  for  falling  in  love  with  her.  Indeed,  I 
myself — but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there, — and  she  was 
fond  of  Ronveroy,  and  I  am  only  the  teller  of  a  plain,  un- 
varnished tale.  But  siie  was  as  good  to  look  upon  as  is  the 
starlight  amidst  the  petals  of  dew-drenched  orchids  when 
the  bees  are  drowsing  and  the  night  is  young,  and  the 
breath  of  her  mouth  was  as  the  smell  of  apples,  and  the 
smooth  curve  of  her  face  where  the  cheek  melted  into  the 
chin  was  like  the  inside  of  a  gull's  wing  as  he  turns  against 
the  light.  This  was  how  Kew  Wen  Lung  spoke  of  her.  For 
me,  she  was  as  pretty  a  little  bit  of  Chinese  bric-a-brac  as 
ever  evaded  the  Exclusion  Act. 

For  Rouveroy,  Lalo  Da  was  simply  Lalo  Da;  he  could 
compare  her  to  nothing  but  herself,  which  was  an  abstruse- 
ness  beyond  the  reach  of  his  rugged  Breton  mind,  so  he 
simply  took  her  for  herself,  as  she  was,  without  considera- 
tion, comment  or  comparison. 

He  met  her  first  when  he  was  off  duty  one  day,  and  was 
seeing  the  sights  in  the  Midway.  He  went  to  the  theatre 
in  the  Chinese  pavilion,  and  then  afterwards,  with  a  com- 
panion, lounged  into  the  restaurant.  She  sold  him  a  chry- 
santhemum here,  and  so  he  came  the  next  day  and  bought 
another,  and  the  next,  and  still  the  next,  until  at  last  she 
began  to  recognize  him,  and  they  talked  together.  He  dis- 
covered to  his  great  delight  that  she  spoke  a  broken  French, 
which  she  had  picked  up  from  her  father,  who  had  been  a 
clog-maker  in  the  French  colony  at  Tonkin.  One  had  to 
hear  Lalo  Da  talk  French,  with  her  quaint  little  Chinese 
accent,  in  order  to  appreciate  it. 

She  was  with  her  sister-in-law,  Wo  Tchung,  a  low- 
meng'-iugh,  with  a  face  like  a  Greek  comedy  mask,  who 
mended  the  costumes  for  the  actors  in  the  theatre,  and  who 
smoked  all  the  time.  The  two  lived  together  in  a  pretty 
little  box  over  tlie  theatre,  full  of  chrysanthemums  of  all 
sorts  of  colors,  and  there  Rouveroy  spent  most  of  his  even- 
ings when  he  and  Lalo  Da  did  not  have  to  be  otherwise 
engaged,  while  old  Wo  Tschung  smoked  and  smoked,  and 
while  Lalo  Da  sang  to  him  the  quaintest  little  songs  in  the 
world,  accompanying  herself  upon  her  two-stringed  sitar, 
wit1)  its  cobra-skin  sounding  board. 

Altogether,  iti  was  an  experience  the  like  of  which  Rouve- 
roy had  never  dreamed.  Lalo  Da  seemed  to  him  a  being  of 
another  world,  but  whether  his  equal,  his  inferior,  or  his  su- 
perior, he  was  unable  to  say.  At  times  in  his  more  rational 
moments  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  this 


jo  THE  MAR  IPOS  A  MAGAZINE. 

could  not  go  on  forever.  He  was  a  sailor  before  tue  mast, 
and  she  was  a  Chinese  nower  girl.  Manifestly  they  were 
not  made  for  each  other.  Soon  he  would  go  away — back  to 
Brittany,  and  possibly  marry  some  solid-built,  substantial 
Jeannette  or  Marie;  and  when  the  great  White  City  should 
be  closed  Lalo  Da  would  return  to  her  little  straw  village 
on  the  Pei  Ho,  to  be  mated  with  a  coolie  who  worked  in  the 
tea  fields,  and  who  would  whip  her.  It  was  folly  to  allow 
himself  to  love  her;  it  was  cruel  to  try  to  make  her  love 
him;  the  whole  affair  was  wrong;  it  was  unjust;  it  was 
unkind;  it  was  never  intended  to  be, — but  O,  it  was  sweet 
while  it  lasted! 

It  lasted  just  one  day  over  a  month.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  Rouveroy  climbed  to  her  little  room  one  Sunday  even- 
ing and  sat  down,  very  quiet  and  very  grave,  in  her  window 
seat.  Lalo  Da  came  and  sat  upon  his  knees,  and  put  her 
hands  upon  his  face.  Wo  Tschung  passed  him  his  tea,  and 
gave  Lalo  her  little  pipe  witn  its  silver  mouth-piece.  She 
teased  him  while  he  drank  his  tea,  and  joggled  his  arm  until 
he  wet  his  big,  yellow  beard.  She  laughed  a  laugh  that  was 
like  the  tinkling  of  a  little  silver  bell;  but  looked  into  his 
face  and  suddenly  became  very  serious.  Then  she  spoke  to 
him  in  French. 

"Yee-Han,"  she  said, — for  that  was  her  way  of  pronoun- 
cing Rouveroy's  "Jean," — "Yee-Han,  what  is  the  matter  to- 
night?" 

Rouveroy  took  a  yellow  envelope  from  his  pocket.  "Lalo, 
I  must  go  away.  I  have  received  orders  to  join  my  ship  at 
New  Orleans." 

Then  Lalo  Da  put  her  two  small  arms  around  his  neck 
and  cried. 

A  week  later  the  Admiral  Duchesne  was  two  days  out 
from  port. 

In  the  big  Chinese  pavilion  on  the  Midway,  Lalo  Da 
dragged  out  the  days  as  best  she  might,  with  her  heart  sick 
in  her  little  body  and  a  choking  ac  e  in  her  throat.  During 
the  day  she  vended  her  white  chrysanthemums  with  smiles 
upon  her  face  that  were  more  pitiful  than  tears;  but  at 
night  she  took  a  little  china  image  from  her  bosom  and 
burnt  sandal-wood  and  incense  sticks  before  it,  and  putting 
her  forehead  to  the  ground  prayed  that  she  might  see  her 
big  "Yee-Han"  very  soon. 

The  days  grew  to  weeks  and  the  weeks  into  months, — her 
china  joss  gave  her  no  sign,  and  the  prayer-sticks  fell  askew 
and  unfavorable  where  she  cast  them.  Her  longing  after 
Rouveroy  took  the  form  of  1  ome-scikness,  and  wl  en  an  op- 
portunity occurred  of  returning  to  China  and  to  the  island 
village  on  the  Pei  Ho  s^e  took  advantage  of  it,  and  within 
the  week  found  herself  with  Wo-Tchung  in  the  streets  of 
San  Francisco.  Chinatown  in  San  Francisco,  wit^i  its  dirt, 
its  impurity  of  air,  its  individual  and  particular  foulness. 


AFTER  STRANGE  GODS.  31 

and  its  universal  and  general  wickedness,  was  not  the  clean 
and  breezy  freshness  of  the  village  in  the  Pei  Ho;  but  it 
was  Chinese,  and  as  such  her  heart  warmed  to  it.  Lalo 
Da's  father  belonged  to  the  Lee  Tong  association,  and  while 
they  stayed  the  Lee  Tong  looked  after  them,  and  they  lodged 
on  Dupont  street,  at  the  house  of  one  of  tae  heads  of  the 
Tong,  whose  name  was  Foo  Tan,  and  who  was  known  as  a 
doctor  of  some  repute. 

One  day,  soon  after  they  had  arrived,  Lalo  Da  was  minded 
to  offer  her  usual  prayer  with  an  unusual  sacrifice  before 
the  great  joss,  in  ti.e  temple  just  off  Sacramento  street.  She 
went  early  in  the  afternoon,  carrying  with  her  as  an  offer- 
ing a  roasted  suckling  pig,  all  gay  with  parsley,  lemon-peel, 
tissue  paper  and  ribbons.  She  laid  the  offering  before  the 
joss,  and  wrote  her  prayer  on  a  bit  of  rice-paper.  Standing 
on  the  matting  before  the  joss,  she  put  her  two  fists  to- 
gether, placed  them  against  her  chest,  and  bowed  to  him 
twice,  after  which  she  bowed  her  forehead  to  the  ground, 
and  then,  sitting  back  upon  her  heels,  put  the  slip  of  rice 
paper  in  her  mouth,  chewed  it  to  a  spongy  paste,  rolled  it 
into  a  little  wad  and  flung  it  at  the  joss.  That  was  the  man- 
ner of  her  praying.  Last  of  all  she  shook  the  prayer-sticks 
till  her  arms  were  tired,  and  flung  them  out  upon  the  ground 
in  front  of  her.  They  fell  more  favorably  than  they  had 
ever  done  before.  She  rose  with  a  lightened  1  eart,  paid  her 
bit  to  the  mumbling  old  priest,  and  departed.  As  she  went 
joyfully  down  the  dirty  stairs  she  met  Rouveroy. 

For  the  past  month  he  had  been  stationed  at  Acapulco, 
then  the  Admiral  Duchesne  had  been  ordered  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  his  curiosity  had  driven  him,  when  on  shore  leave, 
to  wander  into  the  tangled  maze  of  narrow  lanes,  crooked 
streets  and  unkempt  piles  of  houses  that  make  up  China- 
town. 

The  old  life  began  again;  and  again  Kouveroy  would 
climb  to  Lalo  Da's  little  eyrie  under  the  roof,  where  one 
could  look  out  at  the  city  dropping  away  beneath  to  meet 
the  bay,  and  the  bay  reaching  out  to  kiss  the  Contra  Costa 
shore,  which  in  its  turn  rose  ever  so  slowly  toward  the 
faint  blue  cap  of  Diablo.  Close  below  them  the  great  heart 
of  the  city  beat  and  beat  all  day  long,  but  they  did  not  hear 
it.  The  world  might  roll  as  it  liked  in  those  days. 

There  had  been  an  unusually  warm  summer  in  San  Fran- 
cisco that  year  and  small-pox  broke  out  in  the  crowded 
alleys  of  Chinatown.  It  was  very  bad  for  a  while,  and  one 
morning  Lalo  Da  woke  to  the  consciousness  of  a  little  fever 
and  nausea  and  a  slight  pricking  and  twitching  in  her 
face  and  in  the  palms  of  her  hands.  She  knew  what  it 
meant. 

When  the  small-pox  attacks  an  Oriental  it  does  not  al- 
ways kill  him,  but  it  never  leaves  him  until  it  has  set  its 
seal  npon  him  horribly,  indelibly.  It  deforms  and  puckers 


32  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

the  features,  and  draws  in  the  skin  around  the  eyes  and 
cheek-bones,  until  the  face  is  a  thing  of  horror. 

Lalo  Da  knew  that  she  was  doomed,  that  even  if  she  re- 
covered, her  face  would  be  a  grinning  mask,  and  that  Rou- 
veroy,  her  "Yee-Han,"  would  shudder  at  it,  and  never  love 
her  any  more.  She  was  sure  of  tnis, — ignorant  as  sae  was, 
she  could  not  see  that  perhaps  Rouveroy  might  love  her  for 
herself,  not  for  her  face. 

What  Lalo  Da  went  through  with  that  morning,  as  she 
sat  up  in  her  bed  with  her  rattling  teeth,  I  do  not  like  to 
think  of.  But  in  the  end  she  resolved  to  do  a  fearful  thing. 

Now,  let  us  be  as  lenient  with  her  as  we  can.  Remember 
that  Lalo  Da  was  after  all  only  half -civilized ;  but  before 
everything  else  remember  that  she  was  a  woman,  and  that 
she  loved  Rouveroy  very  much.  For  a  like  case  a  man 
would  have  bowed  down  and  submitted.  Lalo  Da  being 
what  she  was,  fought  against  fate  as  a  cornered  rat  will 
fight. 

She  expected  Rouveroy  that  evening.  She  said  to  herself, 
while  her  nails  bit  into  her  palms,  "I  will  not  be  sick  until 
to-morrow." 

Nor  was  she.  How  she  nerved  herself  to  keep  up  that  day 
is  something  never  understood;  a  man  could  not  have  done 
it.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  slowly  as  to  what  she  should 
do,  and»being  once  resolved,  set  about  it  remorselessly.  Re- 
member always  that  she  was  half-civilized,  that  she  was  a 
woman,  and  that  the  little  fever  devils  just  behind  her  eyes 
danced  and  danced  all  day  long.  She  sought  out  the  doctor, 
Foo  Tan. 

"Foo  Tan,"  she  said,  "what  is  it  that  will  best  make  the 
eyes  blind?" 

He  told  her,  and  she  wrote  it  down  on  her  fan. 

"Is  it  not  otherwise  dangerous?" 

He  said  "No,"  and  then  she  left  him. 

When  Rouveroy  came  that  evening  he  found  her  in  bed 
all  but  delirious. 

"It  is  le  petit  verrol,  Yee-Han, — small-pox ;  promise  me  that 
you  will  go  away  for  three  months,  and  not  try  to  see  me 
until  I  am  better.  You  must  not  be  near  me,  heart  of  my 
heart,  lest  the  sickness  should  fasten  upon  you  as  well.  Re- 
member, you  have  promised.  Now  go.  Good-bye.  I  will 
send  to  you  when  it  is  time." 

She  kissed  him  upon  the  mouth  and  upon  t'-e  eyes.  Then 
the  strain  gave  way.  The  little  fever  devils  joined  hands, 
and  spun  around  and  around  behind  her  eyes,  and  she  began 
talking  very  fast  in  Chinese  about  white  horses  and  cahn- 
chamahs,  and  white-hot  winds  that  blew  in  from  the  desert 
across  the  Pei  Ho  River. 

After  a  long  while  he  went  away,  and  Wo  Tschung  went 
to  the  door  with  him  and  called  him  to  remember  that  he 
was  not  to  trv  to  see  her  for  three  months. 


AFTER  STRANGE  GODS.  .      33 

The  days  began  to  pass  very  wearily;  the  hot  weather 
held  and  the  rain  would  not  fall.  The  Admiral  Duchesne 
went  up  to  Mare  Island  for  repairs,  and  while  Foo  Tan 
fought  for  the  life  of  Lalo  Da,  and  while  the  health  officers 
kept  the  yellow  sign  upon  the  door  and  strewed  chloride 
of  lime  around  the  house,  Kouveroy  went  drearily  about 
his  duties,  wondering  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  shoot- 
ing pains  across  his  forehead  and  a  maze  of  dull  sparks 
weaving  kaleidoscope  patterns  before  his  eyes. 

At  last,  one  day,  when  everything  five  feet  distant  would 
be  occasionally  swallowed  up  by  a  lurid  mist,  he  reported  to 
the  ship's  surgeon.  The  ship's  surgeon  examined  his  eyes, 
then  laid  down  his  instrument  and  said  very  gently,  as  he 
cleared  his  throat: — 

"You  must  be  prepared  for  a  great  shock.  The  vitreous 
humor  has  been  somehow  poisoned,  and  the  optic  nerves 
paralyzed;  it  is  a  form  of  very  acute  hypermetrophy.  My 
poor  fellow,  in  a  few  weeks  you  will  be  totally  blind." 

This  was  true.  -All  the  light  in  the  world  went  out  for 
Rouveroy  within  the  next  month,  and  he  went  about  with 
arms  dangling  at  his  sides — for  a  blind  man  never  swings 
his  arms  when  he  walks — and  people  who  talked  to  him 
always  spoke  in  a  loud,  distinct  voice.  He  managed  to  keep 
himself  together  pretty  well  in  the  day  time,  but  at  night  he 
would  often  beat  his  head  against  the  floor,  and  hurt  him- 
self with  his  nails  and  teeth. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  and  about  the  time  when  his 
hearing  began  to  get  acute,  and  he  had  begun  to  occupy 
himself  with  making  things  out  of  bits  of  string,  and  had 
forgotten  to  turn  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  speaker 
when  addressed,  he  got  word  from  Lalo  Da  and  went  back 
to  her. 

Lalo  Da  mourned  over  him  and  kissed  his  sightless  eyes 
again,  and  the  two  went  back  to  China,  and  eventually  went 
to  Tonkin,  where  Lalo  Da's  father  still  fashioned  clogs,  and 
where  Rouveroy  found  employment  in  the  French  colony, 
making  hammocks,  fish-nets  and  net-purses. 

"You  see,"  Lalo  Da  had  said  to  Wo  Tschung,  "I  know 
that  he  knows  I  have  had  the  small-pox,  and  that  my  face 
is  no  longer  the  face  of  a  human  being,  but  he  can't  see  it, 
and  so  he  will  always  know  me  only  as  I  was  in  the  old 
days  when  I  was  a  flower-girl,  and  he  used  to  come  and  see 
me  in  the  little  room  over  the  theatre." 

And  so  the  two  live  on  in  Tonkin,  the  one  distorted  by  dis- 
ease and  the  other  blind.  You  would  not  know  them  for 
the  same  people  that  had  once  met  each  other  in  the  Mid- 
way Plaisance. 

This  is  the  story  as  my  friend  Kew  Wen  Lung,  the  gong-toi. 
told  it  to  me.  Personally  I  do  not  believe  very  much  of  it: 
however,  you  may  have  it  for  what  it  is  worth. 


34 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


San  Lorenzo  Creek,  Santa  Cruz  County,    Photo  u/Maurer. 


A  BIT  OF  CHEER, 


HARRIET  L.  LEVY. 

(An  apartment,  half  parlor — half  library,  in  the  home  of  Diana 
Sprague.  Fragmentary  evidence  of  luxury,  general  effect  of 
faded  elegance.  Miss  Edith  Colton,  exquisitely  attired,  sits 
opposite  the  hostess,  rocking  rythmically.  From  time  to  time 
her  glance  takes  in  the  details  of  the  apartment.) 

Edith — Never  mind  me.    Tell  me  about  yourself. 

Diana — About  me?  Oh,  that's  a  tale  soon  told.  I  teach. 
I  wrote  to  you  that  I  had  started  to  give  lessons  after  papa's 
last  stroke.  Well,  I  have  been  conjugating  the  same  verb 
ever  since.  I  teach,  teach,  teach,  from  eight  in  the  morning 
until  six  at  night.  When  I'm  not  teaching,  I  am  sleeping. 
Thrilling,  isn't  it? 

Edith  (aghast) — Hardly.  Still  (with  determined  bright- 
ness) it  is  jolly  to  know  that  you  can  teach. 

Diana — It  is — very  jolly. 

Edith — Now,  I  am  the  most  useless  person  you  ever  saw. 
Mamma  says  that  I  have  no  more  idea  of  system  than — well, 
I  don't  know  what.  I  am  never  ready  for  anything.  The 
night  of  Eva  Saunders'  wedding — 

Diana — Eva  Saunders!    Is  she  married? 

Edith — Why,  where  have  you  been?  You  certainly  have 
retired  from  society.  She  was  married  last  Thursday. 

Diana  (eagerly) — A  family  wedding,  I  suppose? 

Edith — Oh  my,  no.  It  was  a  magnificent  affair.  I  really 
believe  it  was  the  loveliest  wedding  I  ever  attended.  Every- 
body was  there. 

Diana  (constrainedly) — Did  she  look  well? 

Edith — Who?  Eva?  Oh,  yes,  she  looked  as  well  as  she 
can.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  my  dress — queer  that 
she  didn't  invite  you — it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see 
it.  Mr.  Colville  said  that  it  was  unkind  of  me  to  wear  it, 
though. 

Diana — Unkind  ? 

Edith  (with  a  deprecating  pout) — Yes,  he  said  that  it  was 
unfair  to  cut  a  girl  out  at  her  own  wedding.  He's  so  ridicu- 
lous. But  my  dress  really  is  a  beauty.  It's  the  prettiest 
of  all  the  gowns  I  brought  home  with  me. 

Diana — Yellow  ? 

Edith — Of  course.     Do  vou  remember  last  winter  when 


j6  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

we  four  girls  determined  to  wear  only  our  most  becoming 
color?  Well,  I  can't  wear  anything  but  yellow  since.  I  am 
the  only  one  that  kept  it  up.  Mr.  Colville  says  that  it  is 
silly,  but  I  can't  change.  Eva  stopped  wearing  blue  a  long 
time  ago,  and  May  never  wore  red  after  she  married;  and 
yOU — let  me  see — what  was  your  shade? 

Diana — Green. 

Edith — Green?    You!    Why,  Di,  can  yeu  wear  green? 

Diana — I  used  to  have  color,  you  know.  I  suppose  I  look 
like  a  wreck  to-day. 

Edith — No,  indeed;  but  you  do  seem  a  little  tired.  A 
change  is  what  you  need.  Why  don't  you  pack  up  and  make 
a  little  trip  to  Florida  or  California,  or — oh,  Nice  is  the  love- 
liest place  for  the  winter.  We  met  some  of  the  most  de- 
lightful people  there.  Wasn't  it  odd  that  Jack  Colville  and 
I  should  have  first  met  there  of  all  places.  Really,  you 
ought  to  go.  I  know  just  how  you  feel.  I'm  sure  I  shall 
break  down  before  the  end  of  the  season.  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  gay  winter?  I  haven't  a  night  free  for  the  next  three 
weeks.  Jack  Colville  says  that  if  I  weren't  such  a  gour- 
mande  that  I  would  have  broken  down  long  ago.  Oh!  that 
reminds  me.  The  other  night  at  the  wedding,  Eva  came  up 
to  where  Mr.  Colville  and  I  were  seated,  and  she  said, 
"You'll  have  to  hurry  up,  Edith;  you're  the  last  of  the  old 
crowd,"  and  she  looked  at  us  so  queerly.  It  was  awfully 
embarrassing. 

Diana — It  must  have  been. 

Edith — I  met  your  old  admirer,  Ed  Turner,  the  other 
night.  (Coquettishly)  You  ought  to  have  heard  the  pretty 
compliment  that  he  paid  you. 

Diana  (flushing) — Indeed  ? 

Edith — He  sat  opposite  to  me  at  dinner  at  Norton's.  It 
was  a  superb  affair.  You  know  what  dinners  May  Norton 
can  get  up.  Well,  she  outdid  herself  Tuesday. 

Diana— Well? 

Edith — Well,  somebody  asked  about  you.  I  think  it  was 
Albert  Mervy.  Yes,  it  was  he.  It  seems  that  he  saw  you 
in  the  street,  and  he  couldn't  get  over  the  way 

Diana — The  way  I  had  changed.    Go  on. 

Edith — Well — yes.  He  said  he  didn't  have  any  patience 
with  a  girl's  trying  as  hard  as  she  could  to  ruin  her  good 
looks.  And  Belle  Robinson  declared  that  her  father  knew 
all  about  your  father's  affairs,  and  that  there  wasn't  any 
necessity  for  you  to  teach  yourself  into  your  grave.  Well, 
I  just  spoke  up  and  told  them  that  I  liked  you  better  this 
way — it  gave  you  a  sort  of  interesting  look. 

Diana — And  Mr.  Turner  said? 

Edith — Oh,  I  forgot  about  him.  He  said  that  he  missed 
you  ever  so  much  in  society.  He  said  that  he  used  to  love 


A  BIT  OF  CHEER.  37 

to  dance  with  you — you  waltz  so  well.  Now,  wasn't  that  a 
pretty  compliment?  (Confidentially) — Does  he  ever  come  to 
see  you? 

Diana  (bitterly) — Never.  We  couldn't  waltz  very  well 
here. 

Edith — I  can't  make  him  out.  He's  awfully  attentive  to 
that  little  Mabel  Fletcher.  Queer  taste — isn't  it?  After 
you,  too.  People  seem  to  think  they  are  secretly  engaged. 
I  don't  believe  it  though,  do  you? 

Diana  (grandly) — I  am  sure  Mr.  Turner  is  at  liberty  to 
marry  whom  he  chooses. 

Edith — I  know.  But  still (a  clock  strikes).  So  late! 

(rises  hurriedly).  I  had  no  idea  of  the  time.  No,  I  can't 
stay  another  minute.  I  must  be  home  when  the  hair-dresser 
brings  my  wig. 

Diana  (wistfully) — You  are  going  out  again  to-night? 

Edith — Well — rather.  Why,  to-night  is  Miller's  fancy 
dress  ball.  I  have  had  six  invitations  to  supper  already, 
so  it  isn't  likely  that  I  am  going  to  miss  it.  (Stopping  at 
the  door).  Guess  what  I'm  going  as.  Everybody  is  dying 
to  know,  but  I  haven't  told  a  soul. 

Diana — I  can't  guess.    Tell  me. 

Edith — Ninon  deL'Enclos!  What  do  you  say  to  that  (with 
unconcealed  delight)?  Awfully  risque,  isn't  it?  And  the 
best  of  it  is  that  Jack  thinks  that  I'm  going  as  Priscilla. 
Isn't  it  rich? 

Diana  (with  mirthless  enthusiasm) — Delightful. 

Edith  (opening  the  door) — Now,  I  really  must  go.  Mamma 
said  that  I  had  no  right  to  come  at  all,  but  I  was  just  de- 
termined to  run  over  and  wake  you  up  a  bit. 

Diana — It  was  very  kind,  I  am  sure. 

Edith — Not  at  all.  Good-bye.  Be  sure  and  come  to  see 
me  soon.  (Walks  down  a  step  or  two — pauses,  then  runs 
up  again.)  Di!  (impulsively),  if  I  tell  you  something, 
promise  me  that  you'll  never,  never  tell? 

Diana — Yes,  I  promise. 

Edith — Well,  then — I'm  engaged  to  Jack  Colville,  and 
he's  the  dearest  fellow  on  earth — and,  good-bye.  (Runs 
down  the  steps  and  away,  turning  often  and  smiling  beati- 
fically.) 

Diana — (Smiles  and  waves  her  1  and  in  response;  then 
re-entering  the  house  she  sinks  into  a  chair  and  bursts  into 

tears.) 

*          ****** 

(The  Miller  Fancy  Dress  ball.  A  conservatory.  A  soli- 
tary couple,  hidden  behind  the  foliage.) 

Edith — No,  Jack,  I  couldn't  wait  for  you.  I  had  been 
putting  off  that  visit  to  Di's  so  long  that  I  just  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  there  to-day,  no  matter  how  much  I  would 


38  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

to  give  up.  I'm  glad  I  went,  too.  I  think  she  was  the  bet- 
ter for  my  visit. 

Jack  (fervently) — Small  doubt  of  that. 

Edith — And  Jack — I  know  that  you'll  be  angry,  but  you 
see,  she  looked  so  pale  and  miserable  that  I  couldn't  resist 
cheering  her  up  a  bit,  so  I  told  her  about  our  engagement. 
Was  it  very  wrong? 

Jack — Wrong?  (kissing  her  rapturously).  You  sweet,  un- 
selfish girl? 


A  SOUL. 

Bv 
ELIZABETH  GERBERDING. 

Body,  1  grieve  to  see  you  so, 

Almost  regret  I  let  you  go; 

Yet  all  your  misery  is  done, 

While  mine — who  knows — is  just  begun. 

But  we  had  borne  to  our  full  strength 

Of  agony,  had  known  the  length 

Of  human  pain  and  human  woe — 

Then  fell  that  final,  fatal  blow! 

Despair,  the  tempter,  planned  the  way, 

In  those  calm  depths  you  should  obey. 

I  made  you  yield  and  still  your  arms, 

I  made  you  stifle  your  alarms, 

And  Death  was  easier  for  you 

Than  all  the  thousand  deaths  we  knew 

In  life.    O,  it  was  bravely  done, 

My  body!   I,  the  coward,  won. 

Farewell,  we  had  been  comrades  long — 

Body,  I  meant  to  do  no  wrong ! 

It  must  be  sweet  to  lie  so  still, 

To  find  oblivion,  until 

Atom  by  atom,  be  resolved, 

And  will,  and  thought,  and  self  absolved. 

Farewell,  I  go  to  unknown  fate, 

The  pang  of  parting  comes  too  late. 

Drawn  by  a  power  to  realms  above, 

To  judgment?    Ah,  but  God  is  love! 


A  BULL  FIGHT  IN  HEXICO. 


Bv 
MABEL  CLARE  CRArT. 


It  is  eloquent  of  the  moral  status  of  a  people  to  say  that 
their  national  sport  is  bull-fighting.  Probably  a  Mexican 
would  say  that  it  speaks  volumes  of  the  civilization  of  a 
nation  to  say  that  it  encourages  prize-fighting — and  both 
statements  would  be  true. 

There  is  a  growing  sentiment  among  the  better  class  of 
Mexicans  against  bull-fighting,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see 
how  few  of  them  attend.  Nevertheless,  the  fights  are  still 


gay  and  brilliant  and  interesting,  though  they  no  longer 
have  the  cachet  of  the  best  society.  The  peon  still  gives 
them  the  fealty  of  his  lieart.  He  loves  a  bull  fight  next  to 
his  church,  and  will  actually  work  for  a  week  to  obtain  the 
price  of  admission.  And  when  a  peon  will  work  for  a  thing 
he  is  paying  it  his  highest  compliment. 

Perhaps  the  underfed,  undersized  peon  sees  in  the  bull- 
fighter the  courage  that  he  lacks — that  physical  stamina 
and  moral  force  which  is  not  the  most  prominent  charac- 
teristic of  the  Mexican  character.  At  any  rate,  the  matador 


4o  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

is  a  popular  hero  and  idol.  The  stiff,  straight-brimmed  hat 
which  he  wears  in  the  street  is  never  seen  except  through 
a  crowd  of  admiring  followers.  Nor  is  this  loving  worship 
mixed  with  contempt,  as  in  the  case  of  our  worship  of 
physical  prowess  in  the  ring.  It  is  said  that  the  rank  and 
file  of  peons  would  gladly  elevate  their  popular  idol  to  the 
presidency  did  opportunity  serve.  In  all  the  finest  shops 
and  wealthiest  homes  you  will  find  photographs  of  pre- 
eminent fighters. 

The  bull-fighter  is  more  of  a  man  than  the  prize-fighter. 
He  is  often  educated,  always  traveled.  Mazzantini,  the 
Spanish  star  fighter,  is  a  graduate  of  a  college  at  Rome,  and 
an  A.  M.  He  is  brave  but  not  a  bully,  correct  but  not  fop- 
pish, unspoiled  by  his  professional  success,  and  a  modest, 
well-appearing  man  of  good  breeding  arid  intelligence.  He 
is  very  rich  and  very  charitable,  and  when  he  left  Mexico 
City  a  month  ago,  distinguished  himself  by  large  and  gen- 
erous gifts  to  all  the  charities  and  to  the  dependents  of  the 
hostleries  where  he  had  stayed.  The  successful  bull-fighter 
is  more  like  a  great  theatrical  personage  t;>an  a  sporting 
man.  He  cannot  dissipate,  for  his  antagonist  is  not  a  man 
who  may  be  purchased,  but  a  bull,  who  is  always  doing  his 
best. 

The  matador's  face  is  strong  and  handsome,  without  being 
coarse,  and  he  has  a  fine  presence,  with  legs  that  would 
make  an  English  butler  weep  with  envy,  his  keen,  dark  eye 
penetrates  men  and  motives,  and  his  fine,  quick  muscles  are 
forever  on  the  alert. 

And  with  this,  you  have  said  all  the  good  things  that  may 
be  said  of  the  fighter,  as  in  paying  tribute  to  its  color  and 
sparkle  and  light  you  have  told  all  the  good  that  is  found 
in  the  ring.  The  scene  is  inexpressibly  brilliant,  the  Plaza 
de  Toros  gay  with  a  color  and  vivacity  that  you  will  never 
forget.  The  bull-fighter  is  handsome  ;  his  Spanish  clothes 
are  rich  in  material  and  well  cut.  These  things  give  you 
pleasure,  but  all  the  rest  hurts  your  heart,  for  there  is  noth- 
ing of  fair  play  in  the  Mexican  bull-fight. 

As  a  spectacle  every  American  should  see  one.  Even  if 
you  are  tender-hearted,  you  can  stay  for  one  bull,  as  I  did. 
It  takes  hardihood  to  see  the  second  bull  come  in,  and  I  can- 
not understand  the  American  mind  and  heart  whic'i  can  go 
to  a  second  fight.  Usually,  there  are  four  or  five  acts  in 
each  fight — so  many  bulls  to  be  disposed  of,  so  many  blind- 
folded horses  to  be  mercilessly  gored.  The  bull  ring,  with 
the  smiling  blue  heavens  overhead,  and  the  brilliant  Indians 
round  about,  is  wet  and  trampled  with  blood — red  as  a 
field  of  battle,  and  all  with  the  life-blood  of  animals 
unfairly  slain,  to  glut  the  appetite  of  the  multitude.  As 
well  might  one  go  to  a  slaughter  house  to  see  animals 
knocked  in  the  head  and  call  it  sport.  A  certain  class  of 


A  BULL  FIGHT  IN  MEXICO.  41 

mind,  I  presume,  would  take  pleasure  in  seeing  the  super- 
fluous dogs  of  the  community  drowned  at  the  pound.  Such 
a  man  should  revel  in  bull  fights. 

But  most  of  the  Americans  resident  in  Mexico  are  regu- 
lar patrons  of  the  sport.  They  say,  by  way  of  apology,  that 
there  is  no  other  amusement,  and  they  have  grown  to  enjoy 
the  excitement  of  the  ring.  A  prominent  man  of  Zacatecas 
took  the  long  journey  to  Mexico  City  to  see  Mazzantini, 
the  great  Spanish  bull-fighter,  make  his  last  appearance, 
and  another  American  told  me  with  enthusiasm  of  his  pres- 
ence at  San  Luis  Potosi,  where  a  man  was  almost  fatally 
gored. 

Except  you  see  it  with  your  own  eyes,  you  can  never 
know  the  beauty  of  the  bull  ring,  before  the  dramatic  en- 
trance of  the  bull  and  his  tragic  exit,  has  forever  crimsoned 
the  memory  of  the  scene.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
at  Aguas  Calientes,  that  I  saw  my  first  bull-fight — and  my 
last.  There  was  some  doubt  on  the  train  as  to  the  propriety 
of  going.  Some  of  the  Eastern  people  thought  it  was  wrong 
to  go  on  Sunday.  After  seeing  the  fight,  I  concluded  it  was 
wrong  to  go  any  day.  But  in  the  end  curiosity  triumphed 
and  most  of  the  party  went.  Sunday  does  not  seem  like 
Sunday  in  Mexico,  anyway.  It  is  the  continental  Sunday— 
a  day  of  bathing,  feasting,  drinking,  merry-making — the 
noisiest  day  of  the  week.  There  is  church-going  in  the  early 
morning,  and  devotions  at  intervals  all  day,  but  that  is  true 
of  week  days  also,  for  Mexican  religion  is  not  confined  to 
Sundays.  The  rest  of  Sunday  is  a  holiday,  and  the  bull- 
fight is  the  popular  amusement  for  the  afternoon. 

The  sky  was  so  bright  on  January  Sabbath  that  it  hurt 
your  eyes  to  look  at  it,  and  all  roads  led  to  Rome.  You 
could  not  have  missed  your  way  to  the  bull-fight.  The 
streams  of  the  street  all  set  that  way,  and  one  was  borne 
along,  like  a  leaf  on  the  tide,  by  the  gay  and  laughing  crowd. 
Four  o'clock  was  the  hour  set,  and  before  six  four  fine  bulls 
had  drawn  their  last  breath  and  six  horses  gone  to  another 
and,  presumably,  a  kinder  country.  And  the  poor  of  Aguas 
Calientes,  to  whom  the  meat  is  distributed,  were  preparing 
for  a  feast. 

You  press  through  a  dense  throng  at  the  gates  of  the 
ring — the  moneyless  peons  who  may  not  enter  in.  There 
are  hundreds  of  these  waiting  Peris,  who,  lacking  the  price 
of  admission,  live  on  the  pleasures  of  memory,  and  glut 
themselves  with  the  shouts  of  the  multitude  inside.  And 
they  do  shout!  The  animals,  doomed  to  death,  are  strange- 
ly silent/  The  bull,  even,  is  too  awed  by  his  strange  sur- 
roundings to  roar,  but  the  crowd  yells  and  shouts  and  bel- 
lows hoarsely,  with  a  thirst  for  blood  that  is  an  Aztec  as 
well  as  a  Spanish  legacy. 

From  the  entrance  you  pass  through  a  narrow  aisle,  a 


42  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

quarter  of  the  way  around  a  huge  circle,  to  the  broad  stairs 
that  lead  to  the  upper  seats.  On  the  way  you  generally 
come  face  to  face  with  one  of  the  stars  of  the  day — a  hand- 
some fellow,  swarthily  brunette,  but  not  yellow,  clad  in  pink 
silk  stockings,  tight  satin  knee  breeches  embroidered  with 
gold,  a  plush  coat,  a  Spanish  troubadour's  crimson  cape 
and  a  three-cornered  black  hat,  caught  up  with  pompoms 
and  looking  much  like  the  Dutch  bonnets  American  women 
wore  a  few  seasons  ago.  Their  hair  is  worn  in  little  black 
kews,  and  if  the  fighter  is  disgraced,  this  appendage  is  cut 
off.  If  you  saw  Eugene  Cowles  as  the  bandit  chief  in  "The 
Serenade,"  you  have  a  good  idea  of  the  bull-fighter's  tout 
ensemble. 

Once  up  the  stairs  a  brilliant  spectacle  flashes  on  you. 
The  expensive  seats  are  on  the  shady  side  of  the  ring.  In 
the  boxes  are  upper  class  Mexicans  and  their  families,  the 
women  beaming  and  smiling  and  recognizing  friends,  as  if 
at  the  opera.  Dulce  peddlers  pass  around,  and  in  Mexico 
everybody  nibbles  sweets  all  the  time.  They  are  always 
eating. 

But  the  charm  of  the  scene  lies  across  the  untrodden 
ring  in  the  brilliant,  all-enveloping  sunshine.  There  the 
mose  indescribably  gay  gathering  sweeps  off  in  a  great 
circle  to  left  and  right.  Thousands  of  peons  are  jostling 
and  squeezing  and  edging  in  on  the  elevated  seats.  They 
wear  their  brightest,  cleanest  clothes — the  women  in  gaud- 
iest calicos  and  rebosas,  the  men  in  white  or  light  clothes, 
big  glittering  sombreros,  heavy  with  silver  and  gold,  on 
their  heads,  and  brilliant  zarapes,  like  gay  blankets,  folded 
and  hanging  over  their  shoulders.  With  the  scorching  sun- 
light enveloping  them,  they  are  a  great  blur  of  color,  like  a 
bed  of  gaudiest  tulips,  the  gayest,  prettiest  assemblage 
American  eyes  ever  saw. 

There  is  always  a  band,  sometimes  a  surprisingly  good 
one,  for  the  Mexicans  play  con  amore.  The  monster  ampi- 
theatre,  very  like  an  American  cyclorama  building,  only 
much  larger  and  roofless,  scarcely  listens  to  the  music, 
though  ordinarily  a  band  is  a  great  attraction.  But  just 
now  there  is  that  in  each  breast  which  music  cannot  soothe. 
There  is  a  fanfare  of  trumpets,  a  breathless  moment  of 
silence,  then  tremendous  applause,  and  the  company  enters 
the  ring.  The  matador,  capeadores  and  banderilleros  are 
on  foot,  the  picadores  on  horseback,  each  one  of  them  a  glit- 
tering mass  of  embroidery  as  he  emerges  from  the  shadow 
of  the  seats  into  the  brilliance  of  the  sun.  T'  ey  salute  the 
President's  box — the  presiding  genius  being  usually  an  offi- 
cer, governor  or  mayor — and  the  matador  and  capeadores 
toss  away  t^eir  satin  capes.  The  low,  strong  door  under 
the  band  stand  is  now  the  magnet  which  drawrs  all  eyes. 
From  a  darkened  pen  the  fierce  fellow  bounds  into  the  ring, 


A  BULL  FIGHT  IN  MEXICO.  43 

where  a  roar,  to  which  his  own  voice  is  a  light  tenor,  greets 
him.  And  the  sound,  as  it  beats  in  on  your  ears,  makes  you 
remember  with  a  smile  the  imbecility  of  man  when  he 
speaks  in  lordfy  fashion  of  the  "lower  animals."  As  the 
bull  passes  under  the  rail,  a  steel  barb,  ornamented  with 
the  breeder's  colors,  is  fastened  in  his  shoulder. 

Maddened  as  he  is  with  pain,  the  bull  is  more  frightened 
than  angry.  He  gallops  to  the  center  of  the  ring  and  looks 
about  with  fear  and  astonishment.  He  calculates  distances 
with  his  eye  and  usually  makes  a  dash  for  liberty.  En- 
circling the  arena  is  a  high  fence,  with  a  foot-rail  about 
eighteen  inches  from  the  ground  in  the  inside.  When  hard 
pressed  the  performers  take  this  step  and  leap  over  the  par- 
tition to  an  open  space  between  audience  and  ring. 

The  bull  was  hard  pressed.  Though  brave  enough,  he 
did  not  want  to  fight  and  he  tried  to  scale  the  wall  and 
escape  from  his  circular  prison.  The  brave  spectators  scam- 
pered before  him  and  the  bull  fell  back,  death  in  his  eyes. 
But  he  made  a  brave  stand  for  it,  and  fought  desperately, 
with  terrific  odds  against  him,  until  he  was  too  weak  to 
stand.  And  in  this  fight  to  the  finish  my  sympathies  were 
all  with  the  bull. 

I  have  never  been  specially  attracted  by  the  bovine  fam- 
ily. In  early  infancy  I  was  taken  to  drive  in  a  low  basket 
phaeton  drawn  behind  an  old  yellow  horse.  I  do  not  blame 
the  cow  at  all  for  giving  chase  to  such  an  outfit,  but  the  fear 
engendered  then  has  lasted  me  through  life.  But  at  this 
bull-fight,  I  fiercely  hoped  that  the  bull  might  triumph  over 
his  tormentors.  He  had  been  forced  into  a  false  position. 
The  difficulty  was  none  of  his  seeking.  Everywhere  he 
turned  his  fine,  strong,  glistening  body,  with  the  bloody 
shoulder,  there  was  a  maddening  cloak  blinding  his  eyes. 
Every  time  he  left  the  wall  the  goad  of  the  picador  was 
pricking  his  hide.  He  turned  and  made  playful  passes  at 
the  horses,  and  they,  as  they  felt  his  hot  breath  pass  them, 
whinnied  with  fear  that  almost  ended  in  a  shriek,  and  tried 
to  turn  out  of  his  way. 

It  is  the  fate  of  the  horse  that  makes  an  American  heart 
stand  still.  They  are  old,  broken-down  hacks,  fed  and  fat- 
tened for  the  occasion,  until  they  come  in  with  a  certain 
show  of  frolicsome  friskiness.  Their  vulnerable  breasts  are 
partially  protected  by  heavy  leather  breast  plates,  but  their 
eyes  are  blind-folded  and  they  do  not  have  half  a  chance. 
It  is  the  duty  of  the  picadores  who  ride  them  to  keep  the 
bull  stirred  up,  and  it  is  impossible  for  the  riders  to  always 
turn  the  horses  out  of  the  way  of  the  bull's  sudden  rushes. 
There  is  a  moment  of  dreadful  suspense,  when  his  majesty, 
the  bull,  stands  with  lowered  head,  pawing  the  dirt  at  the 
far  side  of  the  ring.  He  glances  from  under  lowering  brow; 
at  one  side  that  maddening,  fluttering  cloak  of  the  an- 


44  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

noying  scarlet  that  beats  on  your  brain  and  makes  your, 
head  ache;  at  the  other  another  cloak,  equally  carmine, 
equally  maddening,  and  there  in  the  centre  a  horse — 
after  all,  it  is  he  who  is  the  real  tormentor!  He  will  not 
run  at  that  cloak;  he  will  attend  to  the  horse  first.  Just 
at  this  moment  the  picador  urges  the  horse  toward  the  un- 
certain bull,  and  the  poor  blindfolded  animal  comes  down 
straight  on  his  tormentor's  horns.  The  bull  lifts  him  once, 
but  the  leather  plate  keeps  the  horns  from  piercing  the 
flesh.  The  next  time  he  is  not  so  fortunate.  The  bull 
thrusts  angrily  and  there  is  a  long,  wild  cry  of  pain.  The 
picador  is  unseated  and  rolls  in  the  dust,  to  pick  himself  up 
unhurt,  while  the  matadors  fling  their  cloaks  and  come  into 
close  quarters  to  divert  the  bull's  attention  from  the  un- 
mounted man.  The  horse  runs  around  the  ring,  the  blood 
flowing  down  his  legs.  The  peons  go  nearly  mad  with  joy. 
It  is  such  fun  to  see  a  blindfolded  horse  wounded  and  bleed- 
ing! Sombreros  fall  whirling  into  the  ring,  a  sign  of  ap- 
proval, and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  there  were  some  Ameri- 
can derbys  among  them.  When  the  contest  is  not  bloody 
enough  to  suit,  or  the  matador  is  not  sufficiently  daring, 
orange  peel  tells  the  tale  of  dissatisfaction. 

The  wounded  horse  is  taken  from  the  ring,  very  weak  now 
and  scarcely  able  to  walk,  and  is  despatched  with  merciful 
swiftness.  No  bull-fight  is  considered  a  success  where  sev- 
eral horses  are  not  killed.  We  were  fortunate  in  that  our 
horse  was  stabbed  in  the  breast,  and  did  not  go  about  the 
ring  dragging  his  entrails.  The  latter  is  not  an  extraordin- 
ary spectacle,  I'm  told. 

The  other  horse  was  removed  at  a  signal  from  the  Presi- 
dent, and  it  was  time  for  the  placing  of  the  banderillas. 
This  is  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  performance — the 
greatest  feat  of  daring.  The  matador  is  a  graduated 
banderillero,  a  man  who  has  passed  the  long  and  dangerous 
apprenticeship.  The  banderillas  are  sticks  about  two  feet 
and  a  half  long,  with  a  very  sharp,  barbed  point  at  one  end. 
The  entire  length  of  the  stick  is  covered  with  colored  paper 
ribbons.  The  banderillero  is  the  man  who  must  plant  these 
knives  in  the  bull's  shoulders.  He  stands  in  front  of  the 
animal,  without  flag  or  cloak,  waiting  the  attack.  The  bull 
goes  at  him  full  speed.  The  banderillero  jumps  to  one  side 
gracefully,  for  he  is  lithe  as  a  cat,  and  thrusts  the  bander- 
illas in  the  bull's  shoulders  as  he  passes  by.  As  soon  as  the 
bull  can  check  his  furious  pace,  he  turns,  only  to  find  an- 
other banderillero  with  two  more  banderillas.  These  and 
two  more  are  thrust  into  his  shoulders,  all  hanging  there. 
He  flings  his  head  and  tries  to  rub  them  out  against  the 
fence,  but  the  barbs  are  fast  in  the  flesh  and  every  moment 
must  be  agony. 

Somehow  there  is  not  the  slightest  sympathy  for  the  ban- 


A  BULL  FIGHT  IN  MEXICO.  45 

derillero,  standing  there  alone,  even  though  it  is  a  contest 
between  skill  and  brute  strength.  As  at  a  prize-fight,  these 
men  have  their  choice,  while  the  animals  are  forced  to  fight 
for  their  lives  in  the  ring. 

And  so,  though  the  banderillero  is  brave,  your  sympathies 
are,  or  should  be,  with  the  bull,  if  you  are  American  and 
love  fair  play,  and  more  especially  a  woman,  and  loathe 
cruelty. 

And  now  it  is  time  for  the  matador,  the  primer  espada,  to 
distinguish  himself.  His  skillful  killing  of  the  bull  with  a 
single  thrust  of  his  sword  is  what  distinguishes  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  star  and  tells  the  artist  from  the  bungler.  The 
matador  must  face  the  bull,  sword  in  hand,  and  wait  the 
attack.  It  is  assassination  to  strike  while  the  bull  is  at  rest, 
and  calls  for  hisses  and  missiles  from  the  audience.  The 
blood  red  cloth,  or  muleta,  is  flaunted  in  front  of  the  bull. 
The  animal  stands  at  bay,  his  fore  feet  braced,  blood  stream- 
ing from  his  wounded  shoulders,  and  the  cruel  banderillas, 
with  their  mockingly-bright  paper  ribbons,  waving  like 
some  novel  bit  of  decoration,  while  the  blood  creeps  down 
ever  farther  and  farther,  staining  the  brilliant  ribbons. 
You  can  see  the  look  of  desperation  and  foreboding  on  the 
bull's  face.  There  are  actually  anxious  wrinkles  between 
his  eyes.  He  wonders  why  these  strangely-dressed  men 
should  torture  and  dare  him  so.  He  hears  the  shouts  of  the 
multitude — the  tantalizingly  safe  multitude  sheltered  be- 
hind its  wooden  barricade — he  sees  the  red  cloth  and  the 
man  in  the  ring.  He  notices  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  that 
one  of  the  cowards  in  the  ring  takes  refuge  over  the  fence, 
if  his  majesty,  the  bull,  even  looks  that  way.  The  crowd 
pelts  the  coward  with  banana  peel,  but  he  is  looking  out  for 
himself  and  does  not  seem  to  care. 

Then  the  bull  solves  a  problem  in  his  aching  head.  He 
thinks  that  if  he  could  once  pass  that  man  with  the  red 
cloth,  which  makes  his  head  hurt  so,  perhaps  they  would  let 
him  out  to  the  place  where  he  used  to  live,  where  the  grass 
was  sweet  and  long  and  the  water  cool,  and  where  he  could 
take  the  cruel  hurt  out  of  his  hot  shoulders.  And  then  he 
dashes  for  the  red  blanket,  close  to  his  eyes,  and  makes  his 
run  for  life — only  to  fall  in  death.  It  reminded  me  of  a 
man,  hemmed  in  by  circumstances,  making  his  last  break 
for  liberty.  But  the  sword  of  the  matador,  like  the  hand  of 
fate,  interrupted.  The  sword  was  thrust  between  the  ani- 
mal's shoulders  to  the  hilt  and  pierced  the  heart.  The  bull 
fell  to  his  knees,  slowly,  slowly,  and  sank  to  the  ground, 
the  pleading  and  sorrow  in  his  eyes  something  dreadful 
to  behold.  I  think  I  shall  always  remember  those  eyes. 
They  would  haunt  anyone  who  ever  laid  a  cheek  on 
the  warm,  silken  head  of  any  animal,  or  ever  saw  the  plead- 
ing that  lies  in  dumb  eyes.  First  on  one  knee  and  then  on 
the  other,  as  though  pleading  for  his  life,  and  then  t^ie  each- 


46  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

etero  put  the  finishing  dagger  stroke  between  the  horns,  and 
the  pleading  eyes  gazed.  I  was  glad  when  the  bull's  mag- 
nificent strength  had  finally  ebbed  and  he  lay  quite  still  and 
out  of  his  misery. 

Then  came  the  last  act  of  the  bloody  melodrama.  All 
this  time  the  air  had  been  filled  with  applause.  Men  and 
women  acted  as  though  something  brave  and  good  had  ac- 
tually happened.  The  band  played,  the  matador  bowed  his 
acknowledgements,  and  his  assistants  drew  out  the  bander- 
illas  from  the  bull's  neck.  An  American  girl,  pretty  and  re- 
fined and  dainty,  asked  for  one  and  accepted  it,  and  carried 
the  bloody  thing  oif  in  triumph.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it 
now  adorns  some  boudoir  of  palest  blue.  This  episode  did 
not  please  some  of  the  Mexicans  at  all,  for  they  protested 
loudly  against  the  giving  away  of  the  banderilla  and  shout- 
ed "Down  with  the  Americans." 

The  band  played,  the  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  three 
gaudily  decorated  mules,  harnessed  abreast,  were  driven  in. 
Their  fright  at  sight  of  the  dead  bull  was  pitiful  and  comi- 
cal. The  bull,  terrible  to  them  even  in  cold  death,  fright- 
ened them  almost  out  of  their  simple  wits.  They  became 
unmanageable,  capered  wildly  about  the  ring  dragging  in- 
finitesimal Mexicans  in  mammoth  sombreros,  after  them. 
It  was  fully  ten  minutes  before  the  mules  could  be  brought 
anywhere  near  the  bull,  now  lying  prone  and  stark.  Finally 
a  rope  was  thrown  over  his  feet  and  he  was  dragged  out, 
his  poor  head  trailing  in  the  dust,  his  silky  hide  flecked  with 
blood  and  foam  and  dirt — the  animal  that  had  glowed  so 
with  life  a  half  hour  before. 

The  wait  between  the  acts  was  not  more  than  a  minute — 
the  gate  opened  again  and  another  bull  dashed  in.  I  left 
at  the  same  time.  Once,  for  experience,  is  all  very  well,  but 
nothing  on  earth  would  tempt  me  to  it  a  second  time.  But 
the  Mexicans  welcomed  the  bull.  With  them  it  was — the 
king  is  dead,  long  live  the  king. 

I  have  always  tried  to  maintain  the  proper  charity  for  the 
tastes  of  others.  I  have  tried  to  believe  that  no  national 
custom  was  without  its  reason,  and  that  usually  a  national 
religion  fitted  its  people  better  than  any  other.  I  have  had 
conscientious  scruples  against  imposing  a  new  set  of  opin- 
ions or  creeds  upon  a  foreign  people.  But  there  is  one  thing 
I  would  like  to  see  done — one  foreign  mission  to  which  I 
would  cheerfully  subscribe.  I  should  like  to  see  a  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  established  in 
every  hamlet  in  Mexico.  I  would  like  to  see  the  Mexican 
people  taught  what  it  is  to  love  an  animal  as  though  it  were 
a  member  of  the  family.  I  would  like  to  have  them  told 
of  the  old  man  who  starved  himself  to  death  that  his  dear 
old  donkey  might  have  food.  A  man  who  would  kick  a 
horse  would  be  guilty  of  any  crime,  and  as  for  poisoning  a 
dog — it  is  murder,  and  not  of  the  second  degree. 


EASTER=EVEN. 

Bv 
CLARENCE  URMY. 

Sun  slow-sinking  to  its  slumber 

In  a  topaz-tinted  sea, 
Winds  that  waft  their  goodnight  kisses 

Through  the  groves  of  olive  tree — 
In  a  far-off  grave-set  garden 

Death  keeps  watch  with  mystery. 

Purple  light  upon  the  hill  slopes, 
Dreamland  drawn  by  zephers  sweet, 

Dew  of  poppies  on  their  pillows, 
Song  of  sea-waves  at  their  feet — 

In  a  sepulcher,  stone  guarded, 
Grief  bedews  a  winding  sheet. 

Stars  that  lean  from  azure  lattice 
Of  the  rapt,  expectant  skies, 

Eager  for  the  dawn,  yet  ever 

Watching  earth  with  sleepless  eyes, 

Here  where  we  and  there  where  Mary 
Wait  for  One  so  soon  to  rise ! 


ENFOLDIGS. 

Bv  MARY  HTXPES  DODGE. 

The  snow-flake  that  softly,  all  night,  is  whitening  tree  top 

and  pathway; 
The  avalanche  suddenly  rushing  with  darkness  and  death 

to  the  hamlet. 

The  ray  stealing  in  through  the  lattice  to  waken  the  day- 
loving  baby; 

The  pitiless  horror  of  light  in  the  sun-smitten  reach  of  the 
desert. 

The  seed  with  its  pregnant  surprise  of  welcome  young  leaf- 
let and  blossom; 

The  despair  of  the  wilderness  tangle,  and  treacherous 
thicket  of  forest. 

The  happy  west  wind  as  it  startles  some  noon-laden  flower 

from  its  dreaming; 
The  hurricane  crashing  its  way  through  the  homes  and  the 

life  of  the  valley. 

The  play  of  the  jetlets  of  flame  when  the  children  laugh  out 

on  the  hearth-stone; 
The  town   or   the   prairie   consumed  in  a  terrible,  hissing 

combustion. 

The  glide  of  a  wave  on  the  sands  with  its  myriads  sparkle 

in  breaking; 
The  roar  and  the  fury  of   ocean,  a  limitless  maelstrom  of 

ruin. 

The  leaping  of  heart  unto  heart  with  bliss  that  can  never 
be  spoken; 

The  passion  that  maddens  and  blights,  defying  God's  sor- 
row within  us. 

For  this  do  I  tremble  and  start  when  the  rose  on  the  vine 

taps  my  shoulder, 
For  this,  when  the  storm  beats  me  down,  my  soul  groweth 

bolder  and  bolder. 


A  GHOSTLY  BENEDICTION, 


Bv 
BELL. 

My  grandfather  was  a  very  peculiar  and  most  interesting 
man.  He  had  been  a  surgeon  in  the  French  army  under 
Napoleon,  and  after  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  escaped  with 
several  companions  to  America.  He  married  my  grand- 
mother in  New  Jersey,  and  after  a  certain  length  of  time 
they  came  to  California,  built  the  old  broad-galleried  house 
in  which  most  of  their  grandchildren  were  born,  and  there 
my  brother  and  I  grew  up,  with  horses  and  dogs  for  our 
play-fellows,  and  the  beautiful  valley  for  our  play-ground. 

From  my  babyhood  I  think  I  was  destined  to  be  a  sur- 
geon. One  of  my  first  recollections  is  of  my  grand- 
father calling  me  from  my  brother,  who  was  helping  me 
to  build  a  dirt  fort  in  the  yard,  and  taking  me  into  his 
private  study.  Here  he  spent  most  of  his  days  alone,  read- 
ing the  valuable  French  medical  works  he  had  rescued  from 
the  wreck  of  the  Revolution.  It  was  a  sunshiny,  pleasant 
room,  the  wralls  severely  lined  with  book-shelves,  the  deep 
arm-chairs  covered  with  rich  brown  leather.  There  were 
many  medical  journals  upon  the  table,  and  iny  grand- 
father's writing-desk  seemed  full  of  closely  written  manu- 
script. He  had  never  practiced  medicine  in  America,  but 
his  name  was  widely  known  all  over  the  scientific  world  as 
an  investigator  of  curious  medical  problems. 

I  did  not  know  this  on  the  day  he  closed  the  door  upon 
me  in  his  study,  or  I  should  have  been  more  awe-struck 
than  I  was.  He  showed  me  many  little  bottles  filled  with 
pills  and  powders,  which  he  allowed  me  to  shake  and  han- 


5o  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

die.  He  took  down  book  after  book,  and  revealed  to  me 
strange  pictures  which  he  did  not  explain,  but  probably  a 
fancy  for  inductive  education  had  taken  hold  of  him.  He 
opened  cases  and  showed  me  rows  of  glittering  surgical  in- 
struments. Then  I  was  allowed  to  handle  a  few  bones,  to 
touch  a  mysterious  skull,  and  at  last  he  went  to  a  closet 
door. 

I  should  have  been  prepared  for  the  revelation,  for  my 
grandfather's  voice  had  grown  gentler  as  he  showed  me  the 
more  terrible  implements  of  his  profession,  and  I  had  drawn 
nearer  and  nearer  him  with  confidence  and  interest;  but 
when  he  opened  the  door,  and  I  saw  a  grinning  skeleton 
dangling  there  I  screamed  and  rushed  from  the  room.  I 
came  back  the  next  day,  nerved  to  the  highest  point,  and 
humbly  asked  to  see  the  "bone-man."  My  grandfather 
smiled  kindly,  and  taking  me  by  the  hand,  opened  the  door. 
It  was  a  very  large  closet,  witih  a  colored  glass  window 
high  upon  the  wall.  The  strange  squares  of  color  moved 
brightly  and  slowly  over  the  bare  surfaces  of  the  room, 
across  a  narrow  white  couch,  and  broke  fantastically 
through  the  ribs  of  the  skeleton.  My  first  frightened  glance 
was  at  the  couch. 

"Who  sleeps  there,  grandfather?"  I  asked,  "The  bone- 
man?" 

"No,  my  child,  thy  grandfather." 

"You,  grandfather — alone — at  night — with  the  bone-man 
hanging  there?"  I  gazed  at  him  in  awe. 

"Yes,  my  child;  the  couch  is  rather  too  narrow  for  a  bed- 
fellow." He  patted  my  head  with  one  hand,  as  he  reached 
for  the  long  fingers  of  the  skeleton  with  the  other.  When 
he  touched  it,  the  weird  rattling  of  bones  was  heard,  min- 
gled with  another  peculiar  sound. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Alexander,"  he  said,  pressing  me  to 
his  side. 

I  could  not  control  my  terror,  though,  when  from  the 
tightly  closed  teeth  of  the  skeleton  a  thin  purple  cloud 
floated,  and  I  heard  a  weird  voice,  like  a  wind-whisper,  say: 

"Fear  not,  my  child.  It  is  thy  grandfather's  closest  friend 
you  see — Henri,  Marquis  de  Vallon." 

My  grandfather  pressed  the  ghostly  hand  affectionately 
against  his  breast,  then  let  it  fall,  and  closed  the  door  upon 
his  uncanny  bed-chamber.  He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  sat 
with  me  in  the  sunny  bay-window  until  I  ceased  to  tremble, 
and  then  he  began  to  tell  me  tales  of  the  French  Kevolu- 
tion — of  the  heroes  whose  courageous  death  he  had  wit- 
nessed, of  the  fearful  slaughter  in  battle,  of  the  interesting 
wounds  he  had  dressed,  of  the  strange  mental  diseases 
brought  about  from  head  wounds;  and  then  he  mentioned 
the  Marquis  de  Vallon. 

"And  isn't  he  dead,  grandfather?"  I  asked.    "Do  we  just 


A  GHOSTLY  BENEDICTION.  51 

look  through  his  skin  and  see  the  bones?  Why  does  he  talk 
when  he  hasn't  any  tongue?"  I  whispered  the  questions  in 
his  ear,  for  fear  the  Marquis  would  hear  and  think  me  im- 
polite. 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  Alexander,"  he  answered; 
and  then  I  listened  to  this  story  of  the  skeleton  in  the 
closet. 

The  Marquis  de  Vallon  was  my  grandfather's  bosom 
friend.  They  had  entered  the  army  of  Napoleon  together — 
one  as  officer,  the  other  as  surgeon.  All  those  wonderful 
times  they  were  inseparable,  and  the  defeat  at  Waterloo 
found  them  alike  friendless — fortuneless — fleeing  from  the 
wreck  of  the  empire,  to  seek  new  estates  in  America.  The 
Marquis  had  been  wounded  in  the  head  at  Waterloo,  and 
the  surgeon,  my  grandfather,  saw  there  was  every  possi- 
bility of  some  mental  disaster  following  the  severe  head- 
aches that  his  friend  constantly  suffered  from.  The  Mar- 
quis refused  to  speak  on  any  but  political  subjects.  His  re- 
marks at  last  grew  to  be  prophetic  exclamations. 

"Napoleon  will  be  banished!"  he  once  called  forth  loudly 
in  the  night. 

"Vive  la  Kepublique!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly  one  day, 
starting  from  a  reverie. 

My  grandfather,  who  had  contrived  to  obtain  possession 
of  part  of  his  library,  studied  anxiously  the  volumes  on 
mental  diseases.  Every  possible  care  was  taken  to  divert 
the  thoughts  of  the  young  officer,  but  to  no  purpose.  He 
understood  that  his  statements  were  regarded  as  halluci- 
nations of  an  unsound  mind. 

"Ah,  my  dear  friend,  you  are  trying  to  save  me.  Do  not 
be  troubled.  I  should  be  content  to  die,  for  the  empire  is 
no  more — Napoleon's  military  sun  has  set;  and  yet,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "it  is  best.  Vive  la  Republique!" 

The  health  of  the  Marquis  was  rapidly  failing,  though 
the  severe  headaches  decreased  in  number.  His  devotion 
to  my  grandfather  became  most  child-like  and  beautiful. 
He  wished  to  be  constantly  near  him.  He  would  reach  for 
his  hand  in  his  moments  of  profoundest  reverie,  and  caress 
it  lovingly.  On  one  of  those  rare  occasions  when  he  spoke 
of  himself,  he  said: 

"Louis,  the  day  of  my  death  approaches.  Promise  me  this 
one  thing — that  I  shall  not  be  buried  at  sea.  If  there  is  no 
other  way  in  which  you  can  save  me  from  it,  you  must  con- 
ceal my  death.  You  will  find  means  in  your  medical  books 
to  protect  yourself  from  any  great  danger  by  my  lying  here 
in  your  stateroom,  a  corpse;  but  promise  to  save  me  from 
burial  at  sea." 

My  grandfather  promised  him. 

"Thy  reward  will  come,  Louis,  for  thy  devotion  to  thy 
friend.  Prosperity  will  come  to  thee  in  the  new  world; 


5 2  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

knowledge  will  come  to  thee;  and  thy  children  and  thy 
children's  children  shall  reap  from  the  harvest  of  distinc- 
tion and  honor." 

My  grandfather  felt,  of  course,  that  these  prophecies 
ranked  with  the  others  that  had  been  made. 

"Louis,"  the  Marquis  said  again,  "the  house  of  Vallon  will 
be  restored,  and  my  bones  will  one  day  be  laid  in  the  family 
tomb — but  do  not  part  with  them  until  you  die.  One  of  my 
house  will  seek  us  then,  and  we  shall  be  laid  together  be- 
neath the  skies  of  France." 

Then  he  became  silent.  Suddenly  my  grandfather  real- 
ized the  hand  in  his  own  was  growing  cold.  He  turned  to 
look — and,  behold! — the  Marquis  de  Vallon  had  gently 
leaned  his  head  back  upon  the  cushions  of  his  chair,  and 
was  dead. 

My  grandfather,  true  to  his  word,  concealed  the  death  of 
the  Marquis  from  every  soul  on  board.  He  found  a  means 
of  preserving  the  body  without  calling  for  assistance,  and 
then  kept  watch  over  his  dead  friend.  Sleeping  within  the 
tiny  stateroom,  having  most  of  his  meals  served  there, 
thrusting  from  him  all  feelings  of  horror  at  the  con- 
stant presence  of  a  corpse,  he  revealed  that  steadfastness  of 
purpose  that  has  become  the  marked  characteristic  of  our 
family.  It  was  during  one  of  these  awesome,  grewsome 
nightwatches,  he  first  saw  the  purple  vapor  issuing  from 
the  lips  of  the  dead. 

"Louis,"  he  heard  whispered  through  the  room,  "now  I 
understand  your  love  for  me.  I,  too,  am  faithful.  As  you 
refuse  to  leave  companionless  my  body,  my  soul  seeks  still 
the  companionship  of  yours." 

Then,  hour  after  hour  they  would  talk  together  of  mys- 
teries of  which  my  grandfather  knew  I  could  not  conceive; 
but,  from  the  first  hour  the  spirit  of  the  Marquis  began  to 
commune  with  him,  a  new  sphere  of  mental  truth  was  laid 
open.  As  much  as  the  present  is  ripe  for,  he  has  since  re- 
vealed, and  his  manuscripts,  which  are  part  of  his  legacy 
to  me,  suggest  many  marvelous  things  which  I  hope  in  time 
to  lay  before  the  world  of  science. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass,  after  many  days,  the  skeleton  of  the 
Marquis  was  hung  in  the  closet  in  this  far-away  western 
world,  and  there  I  first  heard  the  weird  voice  of  my  grand- 
father's life-long  friend. 

*****  * 

It  was  during  the  last  vacation  before  ray  graduation 
from  the  medical  college,  that  the  Marquis  made  his  most 
violent  demonstration  of  emotion  in  my  hearing.  I  will  tell 
you  of  it — not  because  I  think  you  will  be  interested  in  my 
part  of  the  story — but  because  it  bears  a  significant  rela- 
tion to  the  end  of  the  skeleton's  life  in  our  house. 

My  mother  had    arranged   a  house-party  for     the  last 


A  GHOSTLY  BENEDICTION.  53 

of  the  summer,  and  we  were  having  a  most  pleasant 
time.  There  were  two  of  my  fraternity  men,  two  pretty 
little  girls,  between  whom  my  brother's  heart  was  divided, 
and  Miss  Merle  Gilmore.  One  or  the  other  of  those  Alpha 
fellows  was  always  off  hunting,  but  the  rest  of  us  took  long 
walks  and  drives  in  the  great  drag,  and  tried  our  best  to 
cling  to  the  beautiful  days.  But  they  slipped  from  us  like 
sunlight. 

We  used  to  read  together  out  under  the  great  oaks. 
Her  voice  was  so  musical  and  sweet  that  it  added  a  strange 
charm  to  the  simple  little  romances  she  selected — and  it  all 
fitted  in  with  the  stillness  and  mute  poetry  of  things  about 
us.  Of  course  this  was  when  the  rest  were  walking  another 
way,  and  Miss  Gilmore  and  I  had  a  chance  to  get  better  ac- 
quainted. I  had  known  her  for  a  long  time,  but  until  those 
two  weeks,  1  had  no  idea  of  her  womanly  strength  and 
dignity. 

It  was  the  last  of  the  days  in  the  valley.  It  brought 
with  it  a  cold  breeze  heralding  the  approach  of  au- 
tumn. I  had  expected  the  outside  world  to  be  very  sympa- 
thetic on  that  day,  and  had  dreamed  of  a  long  walk  with 
Miss  Gilmore  along  the  bank  of  the  stream.  There  was  a 
little  spot — fresh  with  the  odor  of  ferns,  deep  with  the 
shadow  of  trees — where  we  used  to  sit  sometimes — but  we 
scarcely  ever  exchanged  more  than  a  few,  low  sentences 
there.  It  was  so  beautiful  that  a  strange  solemnity  came 
over  us — as  if  we  were  in  church,  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
most  divine  thought  and  feeling.  I  had  hoped  we  would  go 
to  that  little  chapel  of  nature  the  last  day,  so  I  could  tell 
her  something  I  had  been  hungering  for  her  to  know — and 
this  is  what  happened  instead. 

There  were  several  people  in  the  parlor,  drumming  on  the 
piano  and  talking;  my  father  was  reading  in  the  dining- 
room,  Hubert  and  the  prettiest  of  the  girls  in  the  hall,  and 
no  place  for  Merle  and  me  to  be  alone.  Wandering  rest- 
lessly about,  I  saw  my  grandfather  leave  his  study  and  go 
upstairs.  He  was  seeking  the  observatory  with  his  spy- 
glass, and  would  be  gone  a  long  time.  I  sought  Miss  Gil- 
more. 

"You've  been  here  two  weeks,"  I  said  to  her  rather 
eagerly,  "and  you've  never  been  in  my  grandfather's  study. 
Would  you  not  like  to  see  his  books?" 

She  said  "yes"  rather  doubtfully,  for  my  mysterious 
grandfather  had  only  been  heard  of — not  seen  since  she  had 
been  there.  The  poor  old  gentleman  was  not  well.  I  told 
her  he  was  upstairs,  and  she  consented  to  visit  the  room. 
We  both  of  us  examined  the  books  indifferently  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  sought  the  bright  bay-window,  and 
watched  the  trees  fighting  the  unwelcome  wind. 

"I  wish  we  could  have  gone  for  one  more  walk  to-day,"  I 
said,  at  last.  She  looked  a  swift  assent. 


54  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

"Have  you  really  enjoyed  your  visit?"  I  asked,  longing 
for  her  to  say  something  kind. 

"You  know  that  I  have,"  she  said  earnestly. 

And  then  she  looked  so  sweet  and  fair  that  I  could  not 
help  jt — I  bent  down  and  kissed  the  white  hand  that  rested 
on  the  back  of  one  of  my  grandfather's  great  leather  chairs. 

She  trembled  a  little,  but  did  not  draw  it  away.  I  took 
it  in  mine  at  last,  and  then  she  slowly  lifted  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  me.  And  do  you  know,  although  I'd  read  of  the 
way  thousands  of  men  proposed,  and  thought  I  knew  the 
proper  thing  to  say  on  such  an  occasion,  I  could  not  find  a 
single  word  in  which  to  express  my  feeling.  However,  I 
wonder  if  deep  feeling  needs  any  expression  in  words — or 
has  any — for  Merle  understood. 

While  we  were  gazing  at  each  other  in  perfect  silence, 
suddenly  there  came  from  the  closet  door  behind  us  the 
wild  rattling  of  bones. 

Merle's  expression  changed  to  one  of  fear.  Her  clasp 
tightened  in  my  hand. 

The  noise  became  louder  and  louder,  with  a  sort  of  rhyth- 
mical sound.  The  idea  that  the  skeleton  was  dancing 
flashed  into  my  mind.  I  trembled  myself  as  I  held  Merle 
nearer  me.  Then  came  the  weird  wind-voice  through  the 
door: 

"Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour!"  Merle  was  attempting  to 
struggle  from  me.  Above  my  dismay  at  the  skeleton's  an- 
tics, came  the  greater  fear  of  losing  my  new-found  happi- 
ness. 

"Merle — Merle,"  I  burst  forth  "do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes.  yes,"  she  cried,  "but  let's  go!" 

Her  answer  came  mingled  with  the  rhythm  of  the  grew- 
some  dance. 

"Vive  Famour,  vive  1'amour!"  the  song  came  in  muffled 
gaiety  from  the  closet. 

She  broke  from  me  and  was  gone.  I  turned  fiercely  to 
demand  an  explanation  from  the  skeleton. 

"Alexander!"  My  grandfather's  hand  was  laid  upon  my 
shoulder.  "Alexander,  the  Marquis  was  a  great  courtier 
and  beau  in  the  days  of  the  empire.  He  recalls  the  time 
when  Ms  heart  was  young  and  lie  loved  a  maid." 

And  then,  like  Hamlet  with  the  hollow  voice  of  his  fath- 
er's ghost  in  his  ears,  I  burst  into  wild  laughter. 

"Rattle  on,  old  bones,"  I  shouted.  "It  makes  the  heart  of 
my  grandad  young  again  to  hear  a  dead  man  cry  'Vive 
Famour!'  Go  "it,  bones!"  And  then  I  followed  Merle. 

We  returned  to  the  city  next  day. 

I  could  see  from  this  time  on,  that  Merle  feared  I  might 
or  had,  inherited  from  my  grandfather  certain  peculiarities, 
and  she  was  constantly  testing  me  to  see  if  I  were  supersti- 
tious or  inclined  to  ventriloquism,  or  given  to  severe  joking. 


A    GHOSTLY  BENEDICTION.  55 

at  a  time  when  I  should  feel  most  deeply  and  profoundly. 
She  had  always  known  me  as  very  serious,  and  she  found 
me  earnest  in  niy  affection  for  her,  though  she  tested  me 
strangely  sometimes. 

I  seldom  accepted  invitations  to  the  numerous  social 
functions  that  year,  for  the  simple  reason  that  T  could  not 
hope  to  gain  the  first  place  in  my  class  and  go  to  some  cotil- 
lion or  reception  every  night  in  the  week,  and  Merle,  appre- 
ciating my  ambition,  made  very  few  demands  on  my  time. 
But  one  night  she  insisted  on  my  going  to  the  Nelson's  with 
her,  for  Miss  Nelson,  her  dearest  friend,  had  returned  from 
Europe  engaged  to  a  titled  foreigner,  who  was  to  be  intro- 
duced at  this  time. 

"Grace  is  so  puffed  up  and  proud  of  her  conquest,"  she 
said  in  one  of  her  little  womanish  moods,  "I  am  really  mor- 
tified for  her.  Now  I  have  a  perfect  right  to  be  proud  of  my 
fiance,  because  he  is  noble  in  every  respect.  He's  great,  and 
strong,  and  good;  but  Grace's  foreigner — well,  just  wait 
until  you  see  him." 

The  night  of  the  reception  I  did  my  best  to  appear  well, 
for  Merle's  sake.  I  must  have  succeeded  in  her  estimation, 
for  though  she  tried  very  hard  not  to,  her  eyes  often  sought 
me  with  that  pleased,  triumphant  look  I  love  so  well.  It 
makes  me  humble,  but  still  I  wish  her  to  believe  me  an  ex- 
ceptional man,  for  it  forces  me  to  live  nearer  her  ideal. 

At  last  Miss  Nelson  and  I  had  the  opportunity  for  a  little 
chat,  and  she  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  to  the  conserva- 
tory. She  was  very  bright  and  entertaining,  and  we  were 
having  a  most  pleasant  time,  when  another  couple  entered 
the  room.  My  back  was  turned  toward  them,  but  I  heard 
them  approaching. 

"Mr.  Leroy,"  Miss  Nelson  said,  leaving  a  story  she  was 
telling  me  unfinished,  "let  me  introduce  you  to  the  Marquis 
de  Vallon." 

At  that  name  I  turned  suddenly. 

"Great  Scott!  My  grandfather's  skeleton!"  I  exclaimed. 
Miss  Nelson  turned  upon  me  angrily;  the  Marquis  drew 
himself  up  until  he  appeared  as  slim  as  his  boneship  in  the 
closet.  Merle's  lovely  face  wore  a  hopeless  expression,  con- 
firmed in  her  belief  that  there  was  insanity  in  our  family, 
while  I  searched  for  words  in  which  to  explain  myself. 

"Pardon  my  surprise,  Monsieur  le  Marquis."  I  said 
humbly.  "I  believe  you  are  the  grand-nephew  of  my  grand- 
father's closest  friend." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  the  Marquis  stiffly,  "what  your  apology 
has  to  do  with  the  greeting  you  gave  me?  Do  I  bear  a  re- 
semblance to  your  grandfather's  skeleton?" 

"You  do  not    understand,"  1    hastened    to   say;    "I  was 
merely  associating  your  name  with  the  name  of  your  grand- 
uncle,  who  is  the  constant  companion  of  my  grandfather." 
"You  try  to  make  me   believe   my  grand-uncle  is   living 


56  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

here  in  obscurity,  when  my  titles  and  estates  should  belong 
to  him  in  France?"    The  question  was  asked  scornfully. 

"He  is  not  alive,"  I  said. 

"Dead!  and  the  constant  companion  of  your  grand- 
father?" The  Marquis  had  the  right  to  appear  incredulous. 

"His  skeleton  has  hung  in  my  grandfather's  closet  for 
many  years,  and,  most  remarkable,  it  has  the  power  of  com- 
municating thought  in  a  ghostly  sort  of  voice." 

The  Marquis  greeted  my  remarks  with  a  quick,  short 
laugh. 

"California  is  a  remarkable  place,"  he  said.  "I  should 
not  be  surprised  to  find  a  skeleton  in  many  closets  here." 

"Of  course  you  are  incredulous,  but  Miss  Gilmore  will  as- 
sure you  there  is  truth  in  my  story.  At  any  rate,  my  grand- 
father will  be  more  than  delighted  to  see  you  in  the  valley ; 
and  if  you  will  accept  my  most  cordial  invitation  and  spend 
a  few  days  with  us,  you  shall  see  the  skeleton,  hear  the 
story,  and  receive  the  papers  and  other  effects  that  be- 
longed to  the  Marquis." 

The  invitation  was  accepted  without  hesitation.  Miss 
Nelson  and  Merle  were  persuaded  to  join  us,  and  a  few  days 
after  my  mother  received  us  at  the  dear  old  home. 

After  luncheon  we  planned  to  call  on  my  grandfather. 

"Think  of  being  in  a  real  ghost  story!"  said  Miss  Nelson, 
shivering  a  little.  "It  makes  me  cold.  We  should  go  at 
midnight,  in  order  to  receive  the  proper  dramatic  shock." 

"My  grandfather  retires  about  nine  o'clock,"  I  answered, 
"so  we  can't  arrange  it.  But  I  assure  you,  you  will  find  it 
uncanny  enough  when  the  skeleton  speaks." 

I  knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  no  answer.  Taking  the 
privilege  I  alone  had  received  since  my  childhood,  I  opened 
the  door,  expecting  to  find  my  grandfather  napping  in  the 
great  arm-chair.  He  was  not  there. 

The  windows  were  all  letting  in  the  bright  sunshine.  In 
spite  of  the  air  and  light,  we  stepped  softly  into  the  room. 

"My  grandfather  is  probably  in  the  observatory,"  I  said; 
"at  any  rate,  Marquis,  you  can  receive  greeting  from  your 
interesting  ancestor." 

I  went  to  the  closet  door — opened  it — and  lo!  Great  vol- 
umes of  soft  purple  vapor  floated  into  the  room.  Weird 
mystic  sounds  swept  through  the  air.  We  were  in  the  pres- 
ence of  some  great  mystery.  I  knew  that  Merle  was  trem- 
bling in  my  arms,  as  we  stood  wrapped  about  by  the  clouds 
of  incense. 

We  distinguished  words  at  last — the  wind-voice  of  the 
skeleton : 

"Henri — Marquis  de  Vallon — adieu!" 

Then  in  deeper  tones: 

"Alexander  Leroy — adieu !" 

And  then  came  to  us  as  a  sort  of  benediction: 

"Vive  1 'amour!" 


A  GHOSTLY  BENEDICTION. 


57 


We  looked  up,  and  then  at  each  other,  then  back  at  the 
window  again.  From  it  floated  two  shades  of  violet  vapor. 
The  sunshine  played  upon  it,  the  wind  toyed  with  it,  yet  it 
swept  onward  to  the  crown  of  majectic  Mount  Tamalpais. 
From  there  it  floated  upward,  diminishing  in  size,  losing  its 
color,  until  the  blue  closed  around  it.  The  souls  of  my 
grandfather  and  the  Marquis  had  gone  to  join  the  hosts  that 
crossed  the  river  of  Death  on  the  day  of  the  Battle  of 
Waterloo. 


fcafcers  Beach,  San  rrancfsco.    Photo  bg  naurer. 


WHITTIER. 

1892-1898. 

Beneath  the  still  palms,  in  smile  of  God, 
How  seems  it  in  that  far  and  celestial  way? 

Not  strange  to  him,  who,  while  the  earth  he  trod, 
Walked  in  the  light  and  smile  of  God  alway. 

— Ina  Coolbrith. 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


I'  *- 
S  ! 

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El 

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ILJ       5 

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THE    PACIFIC    OCEAN    IN    THE    TWEN= 
TIETH    CENTURY. 

Bv 
ELI  T.  SHEPPftRD. 

Prince  Henry  of  Orleans,  after  two  years  spent  studying 
the  conditions  of  the  Orient,  says:  "It  is  in  Eastern  Asia, 
after  all,  that  the  commercial  activities  of  the  world  will 
finally  center.  It  is  here  that  great  empires  will  be  founded 
and  will  increase,  and  the  nation  that  succeeds  best  in  shap- 
ing the  new  conditions  in  the  Far  East  will  be  the  nation  of 
the  future  that  will  speak  in  dominating  accents  to  the 
world." 

The  new  conditions  to  which  he  refers  are  the  redistri- 
bution in  the  balance  of  power  caused  by  the  Japanese  war ; 
the  rapid  advances  of  Russia  toward  the  Pacific;  the  open- 
ing up  of  China,  and  the  possible  dissolution  and  downfall 
of  that  ancient  empire. 

It  was  not  until  some  months  after  hostilities  had  ceased 
that  the  real  significance  of  the  war  between  China  and 
Japan  became  fully  apparent.  It  brought  into  play  so 
many  new  forces  and  factors,  which  might  otherwise  have 
lain  dormant  for  an  indefinite  period,  that  its  results  have 
been  a  double  surprise  to  the  world. 

It  is  now  known  that  the  war  was  precipitated  by  Japan 
for  the  purpose  of  forestalling  the  designs  of  Russia  in  Man- 
churia and  Korea,  and  that,  while  Japan  was  completely 
triumphant  over  China,  the  substantial  spoils  of  victory 
fell  at  last  to  Russia. 

But  the  overshadowing  result  of  the  war,  to  the  world 
at  large,  was  that  China  was  thrust  into  a  position  to- 
ward foreign  nations  entirely  different  from  anything  in 
her  former  history;  that  is  to  say,  by  reason  of  the  shifting 
of  the  balance  of  political  power  in  eastern  Asia,  China 
has  been  hemmed  in  and  hedged  about  by  external  forces 
of  such  potency  that,  willing  or  unwilling,  she  is  compelled 
by  her  own  self-interest,  and  in  sheer  self-defense,  to  adopt 
Western  ideas  and  methods  in  the  development  of  her  natu- 
ral resources. 

It  has  resulted  in  bringing  China,  in  respect  to  the  for- 
eign world,  into  a  position  somewhat  analagous  to  that 
in  which  Japan  found  herself  when  Commodore  Perry 
dragged  her  into  the  family  of  nations — so  completely 
within  the  influence  of  Western  civilization  that  she  will 
be  either  galvanized  into  new  life,  or  fall  to  pieces,  to  rise 
no  more  among  the  nations. 


60  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

There  is  a  divergence  of  opinion  amongst  those  best  in- 
formed on  the  subject,  which  of  these  events  is  most  likely 
to  happen ;  but  all  are  agreed  that  one  or  the  other  of  them 
will  be  among  the  first,  and  possibly  the  most  momentous, 
events  of  the  immediate  future. 

Potentially,  China  is  by  far  the  greatest  reservoir  of  pro- 
ductive power  in  the  world.  Her  wealth  does  not  consist  in 
doubtful  sources  of  production,  but  of  immense  areas  of 
fertile  lands,  suited  to  every  form  of  agricultural  employ- 
ment; of  known  mineral  resources  of  the  most  sterling  and 
invaluable  character,  and  of  inexhaustible  extent,  and, 
above  all,  of  millions  of  willing,  capable,  and  industrious 
people. 

But  beyond  all  her  natural  productions,  without  which 
the  abundant  riches  of  her  soil  would  be  useless,  China  pos- 
sesses a  matchless  treasure  in  the  industrious  habits  and 
character  of  her  population.  It  requires  no  gift  of  prophecy 
to  foresee  that,  with  the  richness  and  variety  of  her  soil, 
the  vast  extent  of  her  territory,  and  the  prodigious  industry 
of  her  people,  China  only  needs  the  application  of  Western 
scientific  methods  to  produce  all  the  objects  of  modern 
consumption  in  a  quantity  and  at  a  price  that  will  greatly 
modify,  if  it  does  not  entirely  revolutionize,  the  trade  and 
industries  of  the  world. 

Whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  fate  of  China  politically, 
there  is  scarcely  room  for  doubt  that  she  is  on  the  threshold 
of  great  industrial  and  commercial  changes.  Her  situation 
with  regard  to  the  outside  world  has  been  radically  changed 
by  recent  events.  Heretofore,  the  most  serious  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  industrial  development  in  China  lay  in  the 
fact  of  her  isolation,  her  imperfect  means  of  transportation, 
and  her  unwillingness  to  adopt  modern  methods  and  ap- 
pliances. 

She  has  wanted  little  or  nothing  of  the  West;  she  had 
no  national  debt  to  speak  of,  and  was  so  completely  sur- 
rounded by  a  bulwark  of  dependent  buffer  states  that  she 
had  nothing  to  fear  from  outside  nations.  In  fact,  no  na- 
tion of  any  power  or  consequence  was  near  enough  to  her 
to  excite  her  apprehension  or  fears. 

But  now  all  of  these  conditions  are  reversed.  On  her 
long  line  of  ocean  front  she  is  menaced,  not  only  by  Japan, 
but  by  all  the  great  maritime  powers  of  the  world;  on  her 
western  and  northern  borders,  by  the  silent,  ominous  ap- 
proaches of  Russia,  and  on  the  south  she  sees  England 
and  France  in  possession  of  her  Indian  provinces,  Anan, 
Tonkin,  and  Burmah.  Added  to  this,  the  burden  of  a 
heavy  mortgage  on  her  maritime  customs  receipts  in  the 
hands  of  foreign  creditors,  China  finds  herself,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  history,  completely  within  the  grasp  of  the  out- 
side world.  And  she  is  just  as  powerless  to  resist  its  pres- 


THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN.  61 

sure  and  onward  progress  as  she  is  to  arrest  the  downward 
torrent  of  the  Yellow  river  or  the  Yang-tse-Kiang. 

By  the  terms  of  the  treaty  of  Simonaseki,  five  additional 
ports  were  thrown  open  to  trade;  but  the  most  important 
concession — granted  by  China  for  the  first  time — relates 
to  the  privilege  of  introducing  foreign  capital  and  foreign 
machinery  for  manufacturing  purposes.  This  has  been  the 
means  of  starting  the  Chinese  in  the  direction  of  industrial 
and  manufacturing  development  to  an  extent  altogether 
surprising.  At  Shanghai,  Hankow,  and  Woo-Chang-Foo, 
the  three  great  commercial  marts  of  the  Yang-tse-Kiang, 
Chinese  capitalists  have  already  in  operation  iron  foun- 
dries, weaving  factories,  and  cotton-spinning  mills,  with 
all  the  latest  improvements  of  European  machinery,  and 
some  of  them  of  immense  capacity. 

The  Chinese  Government  is  now  seeking  a  loan  of  $80,- 
000,000,  to  be  employed  in  constructing  a  trunk  line  of  rail- 
way from  Tientsin  to  Hankow,  a  distance  of  750  miles, 
through  the  most  fertile  and  populous  provinces  of  the  em- 
pire. The  details  of  this  great  enterprise  have  not  been 
made  public,  but  it  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  it  is  de- 
signed to  finally  connect  with  similar  lines  which  the  Brit- 
ish Government  and  the  French  Government  are  seeking  to 
push  from  the  northern  borders  of  British  Burmah,  and 
from  Tonkin,  to  the  head  of  navigation  on  the  Yang-tse- 
Kiang. 

But  of  all  the  agencies  at  work  in  eastern  Asia,  the  trans- 
Siberian  railway  is  by  far  the  most  potent  and  significant. 

To  any  one  at  all  familiar  with  the  subject,  it  is  apparent 
that  this  colossal  enterprise,  in  connection  with  the  trans- 
Caspian  road,  which  is  already  approaching  the  western 
borders  of  China,  is  the  inauguration  of  a  vast  and  com- 
prehensive system  of  military  and  commercial  railways 
designed  to  consolidate  and  extend  the  commercial  and 
political  power  of  Russia  throughout  the  whole  of  Central 
and  Eastern  Asia.  Not  only  so,  but  to  ultimately  bring  the 
whole  of  China  proper  within  the  immediate  sphere  of  Rus- 
sian influence. 

For  clearness  and  comprehensiveness  of  design,  for  scope 
and  magnitude  of  purpose,  and  for  the  splendor  of  its  pos- 
sibilities, this  design  of  Russian  expansion  has  no  parallel 
in  history. 

To  understand  its  full  significance  and  measure  its  poten- 
tialities, a  brief  historical  allusion  becomes  necessary. 

"From  the  earliest  times,"  says  a  recent  oriental  writer, 
"the  vast  expanse  of  territory  lying  between  the  borders  of 
China  proper  and  Russian  Siberia  has  been  occupied  by  the 
Mongolian  Tartars.  Six  centuries  ago,  by  some  common  im- 
pulse, the  Tartar  races  swept  westward  into  Europe,  over- 
running the  Slavonic  tribes  of  the  Caucasus,  and  almost 


62  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

destroying  the  Muscovite  or  Russian  civilization.  By  a 
strange  turn  in  the  historic  balance,  a  returning  tribe  of 
the  Slavonic  race  in  this  century  threatens  the  downfall 
and  absorption  of  Tartar  dominion  and  civilization.  The 
returning  tribe  of  Tartars  after  the  conquest  of  China  car- 
ried with  it  large  accessions  of  the  Slavonic  race  from  the 
Russian  Caucasus,  and  ever  since  then  a  widespread  pro- 
cess of  race  fusion  has  been  going  on  among  all  the  Tartar 
tribes.  It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that  this  intercrossing  be- 
tween the  Russian  Slavs  and  the  pure  Asiatic  races  seems 
to  have  worked  no  deterioration  in  either  race.  On  the 
contrary,  the  mixture  has  been  particularly  happy.  This  is 
directly  the  reverse  of  the  well-known  results  of  the  inter- 
crossing of  the  Anglo-Saxon  with  the  oriental  races,  which 
invariably  causes  certain,  disastrous  and  rapid  deteriora- 
tion. It  is  this  marvelous  power  of  the  Slavonic  people 
for  assimilating  the  oriental  races  which  constitutes  the 
main  element  of  Russian  strength  in  Asia,  considered  not 
only  as  a  Government,  but  as  a  living  national  force." 

"The  truth  is  the  Eastern  Russians  are  both  European 
and  Asiatic;  they  are  a  mixture  of  the  Slavonic  and  the 
Tartar.  Leaving  out  the  Caucasus,  Russia  may  be  likened 
to  a  vast  conglomeration  of  races  in  which  an  endless  fu- 
sion has  been  going  on  ever  since  the  Tartar  invasion,  or 
before,  an4  all  gravitating  toward  one  composite  or  general 
type.  With  the  exception  of  China  proper  and  Korea,  East- 
ern Asia  is  a  great  mixture  of  Slavonian-Mongolian  stock, 
gradually  melting  into  an  apparently  homogeneous  unit, 
and  possessing  a  common  race  consciousness." 

It  was  the  recognition  of  this  fact  which  impelled  Prince 
Gortschakoff  to  declare  that,  "not  only  policy,  ambition, 
and  history,  but  nature  herself  seems  to  have  imposed  upon 
Russia  the  task  of  unifying,  consolidating,  and  civilizing 
the  people  of  Central  and  Eastern  Asia." 

Viewed  in  this  light,  the  industrial  and  commercial  sig- 
nificance of  the  trans-Siberian  railway,  and  the  magnificent 
system  which  it  is  intended  to  embrace,  can  hardly  be  over- 
estimated. 

No  one  familiar  with  the  subject  doubts  that  it  means  the 
eventual  occupation  and  absorption  by  Russia  of  Manchu- 
ria, Korea,  and  all  the  dependencies  of  China  north  and 
east  of  the  Great  Wall. 

The  details  of  the  Cassini  treaty  disclose  the  astonishing 
fact  that  Russia  has  obtained  the  consent  of  China  to  con- 
struct a  branch  line,  in  connection  with  the  trans-Siberian 
road,  across  Manchuria,  from  Kiachta  to  the  Soongari  and 
Usuri,  and  terminating  at  some  port  in  the  Gulf  of  Laou 
Tung.  Its  peculiar  significance  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  gives 
Russia  permission  to  safeguard  the  Manchuria  division  by 
a  military  force  sufficient  to  guarantee  its  future  safety. 


THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN.  63 

This  treaty  is  a  blow  at  Japan,  and  it  is  now  known  that 
the  war  between  China  and  Japan  was  precipitated  by 
overtures  from  Russia  looking  to  such  an  arrangement  with 
China  in  1894. 

Nobody  knows  definitely  what  consideration  China  is  to 
receive  from  Russia  for  this  valuable  concession,  but  it  is 
believed  that  she  has,  in  some  manner,  bound  herself  by  a 
defensive  alliance  to  defend  China  against  Japan  in  case  of 
future  war  between  the  two  countries. 

The  Cassini  treaty  recalls  the  fact  that  in  1860,  while 
the  allied  armies  of  England  and  France  were  holding  Pe- 
kin,  General  Vlangalli,  the  Russian  Minister,  obtained  from 
China,  as  the  price  of  the  Czar's  proffered  friendship,  the 
cession  of  the  territory  lying  between  the  A  moor  and  the 
Usuri;  and  thus  Russia  obtained  the  formidable  position 
which  she  now  occupies  on  the  Pacific,  on  which  she  has 
since  constructed  the  impregnable  naval  citadel  of  Vladi- 
vostock. 

The  immediate  effect  of  the  Cassini  treaty  has  been  to 
completely  checkmate  Japan  in  her  scheme  of  Corean  col- 
onization, and  has  practically  forced  her  to  abandon  her 
foothold  on  the  continent  of  Asia;  in  fact,  to  despoil  her 
altogether  of  the  cherished  fruits  of  her  brilliant  victory, 
while  Russia,  her  most  dreaded  and  powerful  rival,  has 
quietly  secured  by  diplomatic  craft  all  the  substantial 
benefits  of  the  war. 

The  fatal  mistake  which  Japan  made,  knowing  that  she 
was  striking  a  blow  at  Russia,  was  in  not  enlisting  in  ad- 
vance the  sympathy  or  the  active  support  of  Russia's  com- 
mercial rival,  Great  Britain,  which  she  might  have  done  but 
for  her  own  overweening  confidence. 

The  event  has  a  striking  parallel  in  the  outcome  of  the 
war  between  Russia  and  Turkey  in  1867,  when  Russia,  after 
wrenching  the  Balkan  provinces  from  Turkey,  was  forced  a 
few  months  afterward,  through  the  diplomacy  of  Lord  Bea- 
consfield  at  the  Congress  of  Berlin,  to  relinquish  all  she  had 
gained  by  the  treaty  of  San  Stevano,  while  her  great  rival, 
England,  complacently  took  to  herself  the  island  of  Cyprus. 

In  nine  months  after  the  close  of  the  Japanese  war,  an 
armed  force  of  Russian  mariners  landed  in  Corea,  seized  the 
royal  family,  and  since  that  time  there  has  been  practically 
a  Russian  protectorate  over  the  kingdom.  A  few  days  later 
the  Russian  ambassador  at  Tokio  officially  notified  the 
Japanese  Government  "that  Russia  could  not  view  with 
indifference  the  interference  of  any  foreign  power  in  the 
domestic  affairs  of  Corea."  Since  that  event,  Russia  has 
thrown  forward  into  the  Usuri  section  of  the  trans-Siberian 
railway  a  force  of  from  60,000  to  100,000  armed  Cossacks, 
and  it  is  no  longer  an  open  question  that  she  holds  the  mili- 
tary key  to  Manchuria,  the  Gulf  of  Laou  Tung,  and  the 
Corean  peninsula. 


64  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

And  here,  again,  the  character  of  the  population  is  a  most 
important  element  in  the  situation. 

The  Manchurians,  like  the  Japanese,  who  are  their  de- 
scendants, possess  in  an  eminent  degree  the  qualities  of 
manhood;  endowed  beyond  all  other  Asiatics  with  a  highly 
developed  physique,  they  are  also  loyal,  intelligent,  and 
courageous.  Full  of  enterprise  and  daring,  they  only  need 
the  discipline  of  orderly  government  to  become  good  citi- 
zens as  well  as  good  soldiers.  They  are  the  very  stuff  that 
armies  should  be  made  of,  and  in  the  hands  of  an  organ- 
ized military  power  like  Russia,  properly  drilled,  disciplined 
and  led  by  competent  officers,  they  will  render  the  Russian 
possessions  on  the  Pacific  unassailable.  Wielding  such  a 
military  force  as  Russia  will  be  able  to  construct  from 
such  men,  and  within  easy  striking  distance  of  Peking,  it  is 
mathematically  certain  that  Russia  will  ultimately  domi- 
nate, if  she  does  not  completely  overthrow,  the  vast  Chinese 
Empire. 

Not  only  so,  but  it  is  equally  apparent  that  Japan  herself 
is  placed  at  a  terrible  disadvantage.  With  Russia  silently 
standing  over  her  with  an  impregnable  naval  stronghold 
at  Vladivostock,  backed  by  a  fertile  and  populous  country, 
with  an  indigenous  force  of  the  best  fighting  material  in 
Asia,  controlled  by  a  power  pre-eminently  gifted  with  a 
faculty  for  enlisting  the  sympathy  of  the  native  races, 
Japan  may  well  view  with  alarm  the  encroachments  of  her 
great  Muscovite  rival  in  Asia. 

The  trans-Caspian  railway,  which  is  a  part  of  the  trans- 
Siberian  system,  begins  at  Moscow,  sweeps  southward  to 
the  Caspian  Sea,  and  thence  eastward  to  Samarcand,  on 
the  borders  of  Kashgar.  It  is  destined  to  push  this  road 
through  the  valleys  of  the  Pamir,  and  thence  across  the 
Desert  of  Gobi — the  land  of  grass — into  western  China. 

The  great  mountain  passes  by  which  this  system  of  roads 
enters  Central  Asia  are  aptly  termed  the  "Gateway  of  Na- 
tions." It  is  through  them  that  the  armies  of  Genghis 
Khan  swept  westward  toward  Europe  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, and  through  them  that  a  returning  tide  of  Slavonic 
peoples  has  been  moving  eastward  into  Asia  ever  since.  It 
is  estimated  that  100,000  Russian  peasants  passed  through 
this  gateway  last  year  on  their  way  to  the  fertile  lands 
of  Siberia. 

"The  world  which  Russia  is  about  to  open  up,"  says  Pro- 
fessor Douglas,  "affords  a  greater  scope  for  the  Slavonic 
races  to-day  than  did  North  America  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race  a  century  ago.  America  was  developed  from  Europe 
alone,  while  the  surplus  labor,  skill,  and  capital  of  both 
Europe  and  Asia  will  pour  into  this  great  Asiatic  wilder- 
ness. 


THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN.  65 

"As  a  European-Asiatic  empire,  Russia  is  the  natural 
heir  to  Mongolia,  Manchuria  and  Corea,  and  in  all  human 
probability,  before  the  middle  of  the  twentieth  century, 
all  of  this  vast  territory  will  be  detached  from  China,  either 
spontaneously  or  by  violence.*' 

The  position  which  Japan  will  occupy  in  future  as  a  mari- 
time power  on  the  Pacific,  and  the  influence  which  that 
race  will  finally  exert  upon  its  varied  commercial  activi- 
ties, are  problems  that  remain  to  be  solved. 

From  what  has'  been  said,  it  is  clear  that  Japan  has  not 
yet  reached  the  goal  of  her  ambition  to  become  the  dom- 
inating power  in  the  Far  East.  Undoubtedly  a  nation  with 
such  spirit  and  enterprise  must  be  reckoned  with  in  the 
future;  at  the  same  time,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the 
world  at  large  has  given  Japan  rather  more  credit  as  a 
balance  of  power,  and  as  a  future  industrial  and  commer- 
cial force,  than  she  is  entitled  to  receive.  Her  rapid  rise 
from  the  position  of  an  isolated  oriental  nation  to  that  of 
an  aggressive  military  and  manufacturing  power,  and  the 
splendid  achievements  of  her  aims  in  the  war  with  China, 
was  a  spectacle  well  calculated  to  captivate  the  imagina- 
tion and  enlist  the  sympathy  of  the  world,  but  it  has  been 
equally  well  calculated  to  give,  and  has,  I  think,  given  an 
exaggerated  notion  of  her  present  political  and  industrial 
possibilities.  In  the  extent  of  her  possessions,  compared 
with  European  countries,  Japan  ranks  next  to  Spain.  She 
is  larger  than  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  In  population 
she  ranks  fifth  among  the  powers  of  the  world.  She  has 
7,000,000  more  population  than  Great  Britain,  6,000,000 
more  than  France,  and  within  4,000,000  of  that  of  the  Ger- 
man empire.  But,  in  respect  of  her  natural  resources  and 
national  revenues,  Japan  is  a  comparatively  poor  country, 
her  revenues  and  productive  power  being  only  one-tenth 
that  of  Great  Britain. 

The  Japanese  believe,  or  profess  to  believe,  that  their  fu- 
ture is  to  be  an  industrial  one,  and  there  are  many  reasons 
for  believing  that  they  may  be  right  in  this.  With  their 
splendid  geographical  position,  between  Asia  and  America,, 
yet  detached  from  both;  with  their  known  aptitude  for 
ship-building  and  sailoring ;  with  their  instinct  for  manufac- 
ture; with  their  genius  for  art  industries,  and  their  marvel- 
ous cleverness  at  adopting  and  assimilating  the  inventions 
and  methods  of  the  West,  there  is  no  reason  why  a  fair  por- 
tion of  the  trade  and  commerce  of  the  Pacific  should  not 
pass  into  their  hands.  They  think  it  will,  and  they  are 
striving  that  it  shall,  but  the  historically  dominant  instincts 
of  the  race  will  constantly  lure  them  from  the  sober  pur- 
suits of  peaceful  commerce  to  the  arts  of  war. 

It  does  not  follow  by  any  means,  because  they  have  been 
victorious  over  China,  that  the  Japanese  would  be  able  to 


66  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

hold  their  own  with  any  first  class  European  foe.  especially 
a  great  powrer  like  Russia,  with  whom  they  are  almost  cer- 
tain to  come  in  contact  after  a  very  few  years.  Japan  is, 
however,  arming  so  rapidly  that  in  a  few  years  she  will 
have  increased  her  army  to  twelve  divisions,  exclusive  of 
the  Imperial  Guard,  while  her  ironclads  and  cruisers  are 
being  built  in  nearly  every  shipyard  in  the  world. 

I  have  already  alluded  to  the  marvelous  commercial  and 
industrial  expansions  of  the  Australian  Colonies.  It  only 
remains  to  speak  briefly  of  the  present  importance  and 
future  interests  and  influence  of  the  Pacific  nations  of  North 
and  South  America.  Without  entering  into  any  details,  it 
is  worthy  of  note  that  these  nations  collectively,  occupy  an 
unbroken  front  on  the  Pacific  Ocean  of  over  9,000  miles,  and 
are  in  possession  of  immense  areas  of  undeveloped  or  par- 
tially developed  agricultural  and  mineral  lands,  of  which 
the  world  at  large  is  in  almost  complete  ignorance. 

The  Pacific  States  and  Territories  of  the  United  States 
alone,  are  vastly  larger  in  area,  more  varied  and  infinitely 
^icher  in  their  natural  productions,  and  capable  of  support- 
ing a  greater  population,  than  the  whole  of  the  German 
empire. 

No  one  questions  the  fact  that  the  United  States  at  pres- 
ent is,  and  for  all  time  to  come  will  probably  continue  to 
be,  the  dominating  power  of  the  two  great  continents  of  the 
western  world,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be- 
come the  commercial  and  maritime  power  of  the  Pacific. 

Looking  at  the  situation  to-day  and  considering  the  inev- 
itable growth  and  development  of  the  nations  fronting  on 
the  Pacific  Ocean,  two  broad  conclusions  seem  to  be  irresist- 
ible: First,  that  in  the  immediate  future  their  industrial 
and  commercial  activities  will  probably  equal,  if  they  do 
not  surpass,  those  of  the  rest  of  the  world;  and  second,  that 
the  future  struggle  for  maritime  and  commercial  supremacy 
on  this  great  theatre  of  human  activities  will  lie  between 
the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the  Slavonic- Asiatic  races. 

The  question  of  supreme  importance  to  the  people  of  the 
»United  States  is,  the  position  which  they  are  to  occupy  and 
the  portion  which  they  are  to  possess  in  this  the  richest, 
the  most  splendid  and  the  last  great  heritage  of  the  world. 


So  pass  our  lives,  what  name  or  fame  we  make, 
Like  to  the  foam-wraith  in  our  vanishing  wake : 
Yet  are  we  not  dismayed,  for  still  are  we 
Intergral  parts  o'  the  everlasting  sea. 

— Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 


AN  AMULET. 

Bv 
REGINA  C.  WILSON. 

Lo,  I  show  thee  a  king  whose  realm  is  fair, 

Whose  law  bids  live  anew, — 
A  king  who  laughs  at  churlish  care, 
And  wears  on  his  breast,  for  jewels  rare, 

Twin  roses  pearled  with  dew. 

The  Muses  he  calls  when  harmony  dies, 

The  Graces  when  life  turns  hard. 
With  beauty  for  handmaid  old  time  he  defies, 
And  his  heart  beats  strong  under  dreariest  skies, 
If  there  sound  but  the  harp  of  a  bard. 

He  boasts  no  wealth,  but  nature's  gift 

Of  binding  soul  to  soul, 

Yet  the  charm  of  his  touch  a  burden  can  lift, 
And  the  grace  of  his  smile,  like  a  cloud-land  rift, 

Discloses  a  heaven  for  goal. 

There  is  never  a  land  so  poor  and  mean, 

But  knoweth  his  praise  to  sing; 
There  is  never  a  wall  so  high  can  screen 
The  gaze  of  youth  from  the  living  sheen, 

That  circles  this  joyous  king. 

His  name?    Let  me  whisper  it  low  for  a  charm, 

A  promise  of  light  from  above, 
A  something  that  girdeth  the  earth  like  an  arm, 
That  breathes  to  the  weakest,  "Fear  ye  no  harm"! 

The  name  that  I  whisper  is  Love. 
San  Francisco,  March  7,  1898. 


Love 
Sops 

From 
THE  FIRST  BORN. 

Copyrighted,  by  E.  W.  Armstrong 


Chee        Chi          Ah  Fah  -a       a         a    Chung,  One  on      -      tee  -  ee    -    ee 

Andante  n,«\rrnto 


Ji- 


± :  _ 


P 


One-  un       Chim  •   Chiui 


Foo    -      ting        Ching         tong     Yow      -       tong      -      sun 


I  Yah      nahn          say  you  nahn         i'ah 


a          Yow 


;ifEE=ii 


fci 


^ 


* 


Tempo  Prime.  -j- 

-       —  'ij^^; 


mf        •        JA 

•  >.      )•?-       $•&- 


=t 


AN  ILL  WIND. 

By 
eROnWELL  GALPIN. 

When  George  Washington  White  was  a  little  baby,  bald- 
headed,  with  vacant  pale  eyes  and  an  usually  large  mouth, 
it  is  quite  probable  that  his  mother  thought  him  pretty. 
Even  when  the  bald  head  had  covered  itself  with  a  shock 
of  reddish-yellow  hair,  when  the  whitey  eyes  had  learned  to 
look  steadily  out  upon  life,  and  the  vast  little  mouth  had 
surrounded  itself  with  a  pair  of  heavy  jaws,  it  is  not  certain 
that  his  mother  might  not  still  have  considered  her  child 
handsome.  But  when  the  boy  grew  to  be  a  man,  lank, 
loose- jointed,  with  face  burned  by  summer  sun  and  blistered 
by  winter  winds,  not  even  the  mother  who  bore  him  could 
have  discovered  any  signs  of  comeliness,  of  form  or  of  feat- 
ure, in  the  physical  ensemble  of  George  Washington  White. 

Not  that  White  cared.  At  four  and  twenty  months,  in 
a  dilapidated  cottage  of  a  half -deserted  New  Hampshire  vil- 
lage, the  baby  waved  his  legs  and  arms  to  call  attention 
to  his  needs,  and  opened  his  mouth  to  receive  scanty  sup- 
plies of  corn  bread  and  potatoes;  at  four  and  twenty  years 
the  man  worked  with  arms  and  legs,  using  his  jaws  as  little 
as  might  be  until  he  could  prove  upon  a  homestead  claim. 

White  stood  in  the  door  of  his  dug-out,  thinking  of  the 
things  he  had  and  the  things  he  was  going  to  get  by  working 
for  them.  What  he  had  was  a  homesteader's  claim  to  a 
quarter  section  of  Dakota  prairie  and  a  dug-out,  with  a  little 
pile  of  hand-thrashed  wheat  in  one  corner  and  a  bigger 
pile  of  unshelled  corn  in  another;  what  he  was  going  to 
have  included  everything  which  a  man's  heart  might  desire, 
for  all  things  are  possible  to  a  man  who  is  only  24  years 
old,  "  'bout  as  strong  's  a  yoke  o'  steers,"  and  possessed  of 
all  the  ingenuity  characteristic  of  the  down-East  Yankee, 
when  once  that  man  gets  the  "start"  of  a  quarter-section  of 
land  which  will  produce  a  crop  if  it  is  properly  seeded. 

He  would  not  be  in  danger  of  starving,  nor  even  forced 
to  draw  upon  his  little  hoard  of  money,  though  he  found 
no  work  during  the  winter.  Just  the  same  it  would  be  a 
good  deal  more  satisfactory  if  he  could  strike  some  kind  of 
a  job. 

"Hullo,  the  house!" 

"Hullo,  the  biler!" 

Bob  Mason,  part  proprietor  of  the  first  steam  threshing 


AN  ILL   WIND.  71 

outfit  to  be  brought  into  that  region,  was  on  his  way  to  the 
more  thickly  settled  section  south  of  White's  place.  The 
threshing  gang  wanted  water  and  a  place  to  camp.  They 
wanted  hands,  too.  White  promptly  agreed  to  become  a 
hand;  and  at  night  the  young  homesteader  lay  in  his  bunk 
and  thought  pleasantly  of  the  time  when  he  should  have 
money  enough  to  build  some  kind  of  a  decent  house. 

As  always  before,  so  now,  he  was  too  busy  to  grieve  be- 
cause he  was  not  pretty. 

When  Elsa  Haldorsen  was  a  little  baby,  with  eyes  blue  as 
the  summer  skies  of  Norway,  with  flaxen  ringlets  clustering 
about  her  temples  and  a  white  skin  softer  than  velvet,  eyes 
free  from  a  mother's  prejudice  would  still  discover  her 
beauty.  When  at  eighteen  months  she  babbled  an  inar- 
ticulate song  as  she  rocked  her  baby  brother's  cradle,  it 
was  very  easy  to  see  that  to  infantile  beauty  had  been  added 
patience  and  kindliness  of  heart.  When,  at  eighteen  years, 
she  had  grown  to  the  full  stature  of  womanhood,  even  her 
father  recognized  the  beauty  of  her  face  and  the  sturdy 
sweetness  of  her  disposition. 

Not  that  Elsa  knew  it.  Life  had  not  been  easy  on  the 
isolated  little  farm  among  the  mountains  of  Norway. 
Brothers  and  sisters  had  in  turn  been  routed  out  of  the 
home-made  cradle  to  make  room  for  younger  babies.  Many 
a  time  Ulf  Haldorsen  had  come  down  the  steep  mountain 
side,  carrying  a  bundle  of  grass  and  wondering  in  helpless 
patience  whether  there  would  be  hay  enough  to  feed  the 
little  dun  cow  till  the  long  winter  was  past.  More  than 
once,  when  the  house  was  dark  because  the  snow  was  piled 
up  higher  than  the  tops  of  the  windows,  there  had  been 
neither  meat  nor  meal.  At  such  times  it  would  have  seemed 
very  dismal  to  the  younger  children  had  not  Elsa  sung 
songs  of  the  feasts  of  the  old  Norse  warriors,  so  that  the 
little  ones  forgot  that  the  dun  cow  gave  so  little  milk. 

Elsa  could  sing  very  loud  when  she  was  hungry. 

News  had  come  from  a  man  who  had  once  lived  in  Nor- 
way, and  Ulf  Haldorsen,  with  his  wife  and  family  of  light- 
haired  children,  had  come  across  an  ocean  and  half  across 
a  continent  to  file  his  homestead  claim  to  a  hundred  and 
sixty  acres  of  Dakota  land. 

The  dug-out  which  had  sheltered  the  family  during  the 
first  year  was  to  be  turned  over  to  the  chickens,  for  a 
wooden  house  with  more  rooms  in  it  was  ready  for  occu- 
pancy. More  delightful  still,  it  seemed  to  the  children, 
neighbors  were  coming  to  settle  near  them,  and  the  father 
had  gone  to  the  nearest  railroad  town,  twenty  miles  away, 
to  meet  his  friends  and  guide  them  to  their  new  homes. 

Elsa  Haldorsen  stood  in  the  door  of  the  new  house,  look- 
ing out  over  the  prairie.  Her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows, 
showing  round  and  white  and  dimpled  against  the  dark  blue 


?2  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

of  her  cotton  dress.  The  brisk  wind  loosened  her  fair  hair 
and  brought  a  stronger  color  to  her  pink  cheeks.  Certainly 
the  girl  was  more  than  pretty.  But  as  in  Norway,  so  in 
America,  she  saw  few  people.  No  one  had  told  her,  and 
she  had  all  her  life  been  too  busy  to  discover  for  herself  the 
fact  that  she  was  beautiful. 

Mason,  proprietor  of  the  steam  threshing  outfit,  and 
White,  his  employe,  walked  aliead  of  the  teams  as  the  party 
approached  a  house  from  the  rear.  Coming  around  in  front, 
they  saw  Elsa  standing  in  the  doorway. 

Mason  took  off  his  hat  with  a  graceful  flourish. 

"Good  evening,  madam,"  he  said.  "We  would  like  per- 
mission to  camp  around  here  and  the  privilege  of  watering 
the  stock  at  your  well." 

George  Washington  White  said  nothing.  He  stood  star- 
ing at  the  girl,  his  mouth  open  and  his  long  arms  hanging 
limp  at  his  sides.  There  had  come  to  him  a  sudden  recog- 
nition of  the  loneliness  of  his  life  in  the  dug-out,  and  an 
intense  desire  to  hear  this  girl  say  something  friendly  to 
him;  almost  as  strong  was  his  desire  to  say  something 
pleasant  to  her.  But  the  experience  gained  in  his  zig-zag 
travels  from  New  Hampshire  to  Dakota  had  not  given  him 
assurance  in  the  presence  of  women.  He  felt  a  twinge  of 
envy  for  Mason's  ease  of  manner  and  glibness  of  tongue, 
but  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  attempt  any  imitation.  He 
sftnply  stood  and  stared  at  the  girl  as  she  answered. 

"Der  vas  all  das  brairie  to  gamp  mit,  und  das  wasser 
well  vas  dot  house  behint." 

Mason  stood  in  silence  as  \-e  mentally  untangled  the  sen- 
tence. White  was  not  particular  as  to  the  girl's  exact  mean- 
ing. He  recognized  in  her  tone  the  expression  of  kindly 
feeling,  and  saw  in  her  unabashed  eyes  the  frankness  of  a 
perfectly  innocent  young  woman,  at  home  and  not  afraid. 
Then  he  spoke;  and  what  he  said  was  this: 

"By  gol!  I  wisht  I  wa'n't  so  darned  hombly." 

Then  his  face  grew  hot  and  a  horrible  shamefacedness 
came  over  him,  mixed  with  a  curious  sense  of  relief  when 
he  saw  that  neither  Mason  nor  the  girl  laughed  at  him. 

The  rest  of  the  threshers  came  up,  with  much  cracking  of 
whips  and  shouting  at  tired  mules. 

"Ve  moof e  to-day,"  said  the  girl ;  speaking  to  Mason,  but 
looking  at  White. 

"She  thinks  I'm  some  darned  baboon  't's  got  out  of  a 
circus,"  said  White  to  himself. 

"Come  in — come  in,"  said  Elsa's  mother,  with  ready  hos- 
pitality. "Not  mooch  breat  is,  because  ve  moove.  But  ve 
find  somedings." 

The  two  men  excused  themselves  until  the  stock  should 
be  cared  for,  and  went  toward  the  well  to  draw  water,  pass- 
ing behind  the  old  dug-out,  out  of  sight  of  the  house  and 


AN  ILL   WIND.  7j> 

of  the  other  men.  White  noticed  that  tue  door  of  the  dug- 
out had  been  taken  away,  but  the  sash  window  was  still  in 
place.  The  little  room  was  half  full  of  unhusked  corn. 

"Say,  White,"  said  Mason,  "that  little  Dutch  girl  is  the 
handsomest  woman  I've  seen  since  I  left  the  States." 

"Shut  up,"  said  White. 

As  if  by  agreement  the  men  set  their  pails  down  upon  the 
ground  and  stood  facing  each  other.  Mason's  face  flashed 
darkly,  but  White  was  very  pale. 

"Look  here,"  said  Mason,  "I  don't  know  much  about  you, 
but  you  look  like  a  square  kind  of  a  fellow.  If  you  can  get 
that  girl  all  right.  But  I  tell  you  right  now" — he  leaned 
forward  and  tapped  White's  breast  with  his  forefinger;  and 
he  never  knew  how  near  White  came  to  clutching  him  by 
the  throat  and  strangling  him — "no  man  alive  shall  dictate 
to  me  whether  I  shall  or  shall  not  make  love  to  an  unmar- 
ried woman." 

Mason  was  six  feet  tall,  sturdy  of  limb  and  deep  of  chest. 
But  it  was  not  the  strength  of  the  man  which  caused 
White  to  stoop  slowly  and  take  up  his  bucket,  resigning  his 
claims  like  a  man  who  was  afraid  to  fight  for  his  right 
to  win  a  woman's  love;  even  in  his  anger  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  Mason  had  an  honest  and  very  handsome  face, 
that  his  manner  was  graceful  and  his  speech  easy;  that, 
unlike  himself,  his  rival  possessed  all  those  qualities  which 
women  are  said  to  consider  lovable. 

"They  aint  no  use  o'  my  tryin'  aside  o'  you,"  he  said, 
with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  acknowledged  a  fact  no  less 
disagreeable  than  uncontrovertib'le.  "  'F  I  thought  it  'ud 
be  any  use  t'  whale  you  I'd  do  it,  if  I  could." 

He  walked  to  the  well  and  drew  up  a  bucket  of  water. 
Mason  followed  him,  talking  cordially,  but  getting  monosyl- 
labic and  rather  surly  answers. 

The  threshers  ate  their  supper  of  bacon  and  bread  in  the 
open  air,  but  Mason  and  White  were  invited  into  the  house 
to  eat  from  a  table  made  of  the  door  of  the  dug-out.  Dur- 
ing the  meal  both  mother  and  daughter  waited  on  their 
guests,  and  Mason  talked  to  them.  He  talked  well,  for  he 
was  intelligent,  witty  and  anxious  to  please;  and  the 
charm  of  his  conversation  was  not  lessened  by  the  fact  that 
he  believed  himself  to  be  making  good  progress  toward 
gaining  the  regard  of  a  very  pretty  girl. 

White  said  but  little,  and  by  reason  of  his  bashfulness 
said  that  little  very  clumsily.  He  was  trying  to  get  some 
comfort  out  of  the  fact  that  Elsa  seemed  to  pay  as  much 
attention  to  him  as  to  Mason,  when,  just  before  the  meal 
was  over,  the  girl  brought  a  piece  of  apple  pie  and  set  it 
by  Mason's  plate. 

"Dot  vas  all  ve  haf,  pecause  ve  moofe.  Der  boss  dot  pie 
gets,"  she  said  with  a  little  blush. 


74  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

Mason  quoted  a  Norse  proverb:  "A  kindly  heart  makes  a 
happier  guest  than  dainty  meat,"  as  he  cut  the  pie  into  two 
tiny  pieces. 

White  saw  the  blush  with  which  the  dessert  was  offered, 
and  misinterpreted  it.  He  declined  the  proffered  section, 
knowing  that  if  lie  accepted  it  he  would  then  and  there  jam 
it  down  Mason's  throat.  He  rose  abruptly  and  went  out. 
He  said  nothing  aloud,  but  inwardly  he  cursed  Mason's  easy 
grace  and  his  ready  ability  to  turn  everything  to  his  own 
profit. 

Mason  sat  and  deliberately  ate  the  pie  and  then  sat  and 
talked  for  two  hours  longer,  and  when  at  last  he  rose  to  go 
he  felt  very  well  satisfied  with  himself  and  all  the  world. 
As  he  put  on  his  hat  Elsa  handed  him  a  small  pie,  still 
warm,  on  a  tin  plate. 

"Dot  to  der  oder  man  you  gifs,"  she  said,  with  the  same 
little  blush  he  had  seen  before. 

It  was  rather  a  shock  to  the  handsome  young  man,  but 
he  said  "Good  night"  and  made  a  moderately  graceful  exit, 
with  the  pie  in  his  hand.  When  he  was  fairly  outside  he 
bit  a  great,  round  mouthful  out  of  the  pie;  then  he  spat  it 
out  and  fired  the  remainder,  dish  and  all,  at  a  mule,  which 
had  just  stretched  out  its  neck  to  bray. 

The  threshers  were  astir  early,  and  before  it  was  fairly 
light  were  well  on  their  way  toward  their  next  station; 
but  one  man  was  left  behind  to  hunt  up  a  mule  which  had 
been  startled  in  the  night  and  had  run  off  over  the  prairie. 

The  day  was  unusually  warm  for  November,  and  a  strong 
shower  fell  about  noon.  But  it  cleared  up  again  and  the 
teams  pushed  on.  At  dusk  the  stock  and  machinery  were 
left  in  the  outskirts  of  a  little  town,  and  most  of  the  men 
gathered  at  "the  store"  to  hear  news  from  the  outside 
world. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  desultory  conversation,  mingled 
with  political  discussion,  prophecies  of  the  growth  and  pros- 
perity of  Boomtown,  and  speculations  regarding  the  com- 
ing winter. 

Mason  walked  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Looks  as  if  winter  had  begun  to  arrive,"  he  said  as  he 
looked  out  over  the  prairie.  Half  the  sky  was  covered  with 
black  clouds,  and  a  gusty  wind  was  picking  up  dust  and 
straws  and  whirling  them  about  in  little  eddies. 

"Whew!"  said  the  man  as  he  stepped  outside,  "it's  cold. 
Hope  we  won't  get  a  big  storm  that'll  stop  threshing.  Let's 
go  back  to  the  camp  before  the  wind  gets  any  stronger." 

The  men  started,  but  they  did  not  reach  the  camp  before 
the  wind  got  stronger,  and  very  much  stronger.  The  little 
eddies  that  picked  up  straws  became  small  cyclones  which 
carried  loose  boards  along  with  them;  the  whispering 
sounds  became  long-drawn  shrieks,  and  the  intermittent 


AN  ILL   WIND. 


75 


moaning  became  a  steady  roar.  Just  before  camp  was 
reached  the  men  were  drenched  by  dashing  rain  that  almost 
instantly  turned  to  a  fine  sleet,  cutting  their  faces  like  bird 
shot  fired  at  long  range. 

"Make  for  the  cooking  shanty,"  yelled  Mason,  as  he  bent 
his  head  and  turned  his  face  from  the  driving  sleet. 

The  cooking  shanty  was  a  substantial  affair  of  grooved 
and  tongued  lumber,  built  on  the  running  gear  of  a  heavy 
wagon.  It  was  not  provided  with  sleeping  accommodations, 
but  the  blankets  and  extra  clothing  of  the  men  were  piled  in 
it,  and  what  was  still  more  to  the  purpose  there  was  a  cook 
stove  and  three  or  four  hundred  pounds  of  soft  coal. 

Something  bumped  against  the  wheels  and  a  hoarse  shout 
was  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  wind : 

"Le'  me  in,  boys,  le'  me  in!"  and  when  the  door  was 
opened  the  man  who  had  been  left  behind  to  catch  the  stray 
mule  stumbled  in  among  his  companions.  It  had  taken  him 
half  a  day  to  catch  the  animal  and  the  blizzard  had  caught 
him  on  the  way  to  camp. 

"The  wind  blowed  us  along,"  chattered  the  man  with  the 
half-hysterical  laughter  following  relief  from  deadly  fear, 
"an'  we  jest  come." 

He  edged  his  way  to  the  fire. 

"This  beats  bein'  out  in  the  wind,"  he  said,  "  but  I'd 
ruther  be  in  a  dug-out  what  I  was  sure  couldn't  be  blowed 
over.  Say,  Haldorsen's  house  is  burnt  up,  V  they  didn't 
save  nothing  but  some  beddin'.  The  fire  come  up  quick  an' 
burnt  up  everything.  They  didn't  have  no  matches  to  build 
a  fire  with,  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  they've  got  a  single  darn  thing 
to  eat." 

Nobody  said  anything  for  a  moment.  The  storm  shrieked 
and  howled,  and  the  shanty  rocked  and  quivered  as  the 
blast  struck  it. 

White  crowded  his  way  to  a  cupboard  and  took  out  a 
piece  of  salt  pork  and  a  sack  of  table  salt. 

The  men  seemed  to  get  a  notion  of  what  he  was  about, 
and  two  or  three  called  him  a  fool. 

"The  dug-out  was  half  full  of  corn,"  said  Mason,  "they 
won't  starve." 

"Them  women's  got  to  have  help,"  said  White.  "They 
wa'n't  no  door  on  that  dug-out." 

Bob  Mason  was  rather  pale,  and  his  tongue  seemed  less 
manageable  than  usual  as  he  spoke. 

"They're  in  a  bad  fix,  I  admit.  But  no  living  man  can 
get  to  them  against  this  blizzard.  Why,  Bill  here  is  nearly 
frozen  riding  with  the  wind." 

"I'm  a  goin'  to  try  it,"  answered  White,  shortly. 
There  was  not  much  more  conversation.    White  put  his 
chunk  of  pork,  the  bag  of  salt  and  two  boxes  of  matches 
into  an  empty  grain  sack,  cutting  off  the  extra  cloth.    He 


76  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

took  down  a  somewhat  moth-eaten  buffalo  coat  hanging 
against  the  wall,  put  it  on  and  lifted  his  bundle.  He  opened 
the  door,  and  two  of  the  men  pushed  it  shut  as  White 
staggered  out  into  the  storm. 

Jim  Adelman,  formerly  of  Missouri,  sat  in  his  dug-out 
reading  a  month-old  paper  by  the  light  of  a  lantern.  The 
blizzard  raged  outside,  and  Adelman  congratulated  himself 
that  he  had  thatched  his  dug-out  with  two  feet  of  earth. 

Some  one  thumped  upon  the  door — once — twice — but 
before  there  was  time  to  strike  a  third  time  Adelman 
opened  it;  and  White,  an  indescribable  mass  of  felt  hat, 
snow,  ice  and  buffalo  hair,  stumbled  into  the  room. 

"Keep  away  from  the  fire  if  you're  froze,"  yelled  the  Mis- 
sourian,  shutting  the  door  as  his  visitor  leaned  over  the 
stove. 

"I  aint  so  very  cold,"  said  White,  which  assertion  was 
somewhat  belied  by  his  pinched  face  and  blue  lips;  "but  my 
eyelids  is  froze  together  so't  I  can't  hardly  see."  He  stood 
by  the  stove,  pawing  at  his  face  with  stiffened  hands. 

Adelman  took  hold  of  the  buffalo  coat  and  began  to  un 
button  it. 

"Hold  on !"  said  White,  "I'm  agoin'  on  when  I  get  thawed 
out  a  little." 

Adelman  stood  back  and  looked  at  his  guest. 

"You  must  be  some  new  kind  of  a  doggoned  fool,"  he  re- 
marked, pleasantly.  "You  ain't  gwine  out  o'  this  here  dug- 
out fer  a  week." 

"Got  to,"  said  White,  "some  fellers'll  starve." 

"Can't  help  it,"  said  Adelman,  "you've  met  up  wit'i  a  man 
what'll  see  't  you  don't  get  to  go  out  o'  here  till  the  bliz- 
zard's blowed  itself  out.  Them  fellers'll  have  to  starve  a 
little." 

"Taint  fellers — it's  women,"  said  White,  a  little  sheep- 
ishly. 

"Air  it  a  gal  what — what  you're  soft  on?" 

White  nodded. 

Adelman  was  an  old  man,  slender  and  not  much  over  five 
feet  tall. 

•'Pardner,"  he  said,  "my  old  woman  died  about  the  time 
you  was  borned,  an'  they  won't  nobody  mourn  much  when 
I  pass  in  my  checks.  Kin  I  git  thar?  I'm  a  doggoned  sig'it 
tougher'n  I  look." 

"It's  snowin'  some,"  answered  White,  "an'  if  it  drifts  a 
short-legged  man  don't  stan'  no  show.  I  reckon  God 
A'mighty  give  me  long  legs  fer  jes'  this  trip." 

"How  fur  is  it?" 

"Haldorsen's." 

"Pardner,"  said  Adelman,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  tone, 
"when  the  blizzard  quits  I'll  come  out  that  way,  an'  ef  I  hev 
to  I'll  see  't  ye're  buried  long  o'  one  another.  I  don't  reckon 


AN  ILL   WIND.  77 

you'll  ever  git  thar.  But  keep  yer  head  stiddy," — White 
opened  the  door — "and — doggone  yer  ornery  skin,  I  hope 
you'll  git  thar." 

Tiie  shrieking  wind  drowned  his  voice,  and  by  the  time 
Adelman  had  jammed  the  door  shut  White  was  out  of  sight 
in  the  driving  snow. 

White  bent  his  head  and  pushed  himself  along  against 
the  wind,  shouldering  it  aside,  staggering  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  actually  borne  backward,  like  a  man  struggling 
in  a  dense  crowd  of  people.  It  was  very  dark,  but  he  felt 
little  fear  of  losing  his  way.  The  settlers  were  scattered, 
but  they  had  plowed  out  the  section  lines  straight  across  the 
level  township,  affording  a  plain  guide  which  he  could  fee\ 
if  he  could  not  see. 

The  wind  no  longer  toyed  with  straws  nor  whirled  the 
prairie  dust  in  playful  eddies;  there  was  neither  whispering 
nor  moaning;  straight  out  of  the  Northwest  it  came  with  a 
roar  that  made  all  other  sounds  inaudible,  bearing  frozen 
raindrops  that  struck  and  stung  like  venomous  insects.  No 
man  could  face  such  a  gale  and  breathe.  With  face  turned 
aside  and  shoulder  thrust  forward,  White  labored  like  a 
man  carrying  a  load  up  a  steep  hill.  At  times  advance  was 
impossible,  and  the  man  crouched  close  to  the  ground,  gasp- 
ing for  breath,  hiding  his  face  and  hands  in  the  folds  of  the 
buffalo  coat  in  a  vain  attempt  to  avoid  the  pitiless  cold 
which  seemed  to  pierce  through  his  clothing  as  if  it  had 
been  gossamer.  The  wind  tugged  at  him,  pushed  him  back- 
ward and  down  upon  the  ground;  the  cold  tortured  his 
whole  body  and  bit  cruelly  at  neck  and  wrist  like  a  reptile 
whose  vicious  wisdom  taught  it  to  strike  at  unprotected 
flesh.  Yet  he  pressed  on,  falling  over  rough  places  and  ris- 
ing again  to  push  forward  in  the  teeth  of  the  shrieking 
wind.  Had  it  been  daylight,  vision  would  have  been  impos- 
sible, for  human  eyes  could  not  endure  the  pelting  of  the 
sharp  icicles  and  the  deadly  cold  of  the  blast.  Over  the 
deep  furrow  marking  the  town  line  he  stumbled  back  and 
forth,  falling  sometimes  and  cutting  hands  and  face  against 
the  frozen  ground,  yet  feeling  thankful  that  he  was  able  to 
avoid  wandering  from  his  path. 

There  is  a  limit  to  a  man's  ability  to  resist  low  tempera- 
ture and  strong  wind,  even  though  he  may  possess  all  the 
grim  courage  of  generations  of  Puritan  forefathers,  though 
in  him  is  concentrated  the  strength  of  many  backwoods 
progenitors.  The  cold  paralyzes  him  and  the  wind  makes 
him  delirious;  and  Wrhite  lost  the  power  of  clearly  dis- 
tinguishing between  facts  about  him  and  mental  impres- 
sions from  within.  He  found  himself  standing  still  while  in 
a  crazy  sort  of  way  he  tried  to  convince  himself  that  his  pile 
of  w^eat  would  keep  Elsa  Haldorsen  from  being  hungry,  all 
the  time  painfully  half  conscious  that  it  was  not  mental 


78  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

anxiety  he  needed  to  fight  against,  so  much  as  the  dreadful 
suffering  from  the  cold.  He  pulled  himself  together,  men- 
tally and  physically,  knocking  his  numbed  arms  together 
to  start  the  sluggish  blood  to  flowing  in  his  veins,  and  stum- 
bled forward,  not  thinking  much  of  direction,  yet  half  in- 
stinctively coming  back  to  the  furrow  when  he  felt  level 
ground  beneath  his  feet. 

The  paralysis  of  cold  is  stronger  than  the  delirium  con- 
sequent upon  excessive  air  pressure  on  the  lungs.  White 
thought  the  fierce  shriek  of  the  wind  less  loud.  Pain  seemed 
less  intense. 

"My  knees  feel  kind  o'  funny,"  he  mumbled  to  himself. 

The  delirious  mind  in  a  rugged  body  still  made  its  desper- 
ate fight  against  the  fatal  torpor  of  the  cold. 

"My  knees — my  knee — " 

He  had  fallen  to  his  hands  and  knees,  striking  the  sharp 
lumps  of  frozen  earth  in  the  furrow.  He  was  tired.  It  was 
not  very  cold.  Here  was  a  place  to  rest. 

It  was  like  tearing  soul  from  body  to  rouse  himself  to  go 
on.  Sharp  consciousness  came  back  for  a  moment,  and  with 
it  fear  more  horrible  than  extremity  of  physical  pain. 

"God  A'mighty,"  he  moaned,  "don't  le'  me  git  sleepy! 
Sweet  Jesus,  don't  le'  me  git  sleepy!" 

He  rose  to  his  knees,  wavering  from  side  to  side.  A  blast 
stronger,  colder,  more  deadly  than  any  that  had  come  be- 
fore roared  across  the  prairie,  carrying  a  mass  of  snow  and 
ice  that  made  the  air  seem  solid.  White  toppled  over  upon 
his  face,  and  delirium  struck  its  last  blow  in  its  battle  with 
the  stupor  of  cold. 

"Gol  darn  sleepy,"  whispered  the  man,  his  half  frozen 
lips  stretching  apart  in  a  ghastly  smile.  He  lay  down  across 
the  furrow  which  had  been  his  guide.  The  snow  fell  stead- 
ily and  the  blast  roared  over  him. 

A  blow  upon  his  body,  and  then  another — a  stroke  upon 
his  head  that  made  great  flashes  of  light  before  his  eyes — 
upon  his  face  a  breath  scorching  as  if  straight  from  the  in- 
fernal regions — White  sat  up  and  heard  the  howling  wind, 
felt  numbly  the  pricking  of  driving  snow,  and  saw  slowly 
drifting  by  the  dim  forms  of  cattle  which  the  Wind  God 
was  gathering  together  for  his  own. 

Some  of  them  had  trodden  upon  him,  struck  their  hoofs 
against  him,  breathed  upon  his  face.  If  they  had  bruised 
him  he  was  too  cold  to  feel  it.  They  had  broken  no  bones, 
for  he  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  stood  pounding  himself 
across  the  breast  with  arms  that  seemed  dead  to  feeling. 

He  was  awake,  and  though  rather  stupid  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  the  bundle  was  gone  from  his  shoulders.  He 
stooped  and  felt  for  it,  found  it,  pushed  it  about  with  stiffen- 
ed hands  which  had  lost  their  power  of  grasping. 

"That's  what  God  A'mighty  give  me  bull-dog  jaws  fer," 


AN  ILL   WIND.  79 

he  muttered.  Stooping  low  to  take  the  package  in  his  teeth, 
he  fell.  Then  he  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  and,  with  stub- 
born courage  that  was  only  pitiful,  staggered  out  upon  the 
prairie.  Numb  and  stupid  with  cold,  incapable  of  consecu- 
tive thought,  he  had  forgotten  the  precious  bundle. 

Whether  he  had  gone  far  or  but  a  little  way,  he  could  not 
tell,  but  suddenly  the  power  of  clear  thinking  came  back  to 
him.  It  was  dark.  The  blizzard  howled  and  bore  its  burden 
of  frozen  rain.  But  the  sleet  no  longer  stung,  the  cold  no 
longer  bit. 

"I've  lost  the  stuff,  an'  I  can't  git  there  anyhow."  He 
was  too  cold  to  be  hopeful,  too  cold  to  be  sorry  for  himself, 
too  cold  to  be  afraid.  He  walked  forward  more  by  reason 
of  muscular  action  that  had  become  habit  than  from  any 
effort  of  will.  Again  drowsiness  came  over  him — drowsi- 
ness resistless  and  comfortable  as  when  he  was  a  child.  A 
habit  of  childhood  asserted  itself: 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 

lie  murmured, 

"I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep. 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord " 

Like  light  flashing  through  black  darkness,  like  sudden 
awakening  from  deep  sleep,  full  realization  of  his  position 
came  to  him — the  hopelessness  of  his  own  condition,  the 
fate  of  the  family  he  had  hoped  to  succor — 

"Help  Elsa,  help  Elsa,"  he  prayed;  and  again  the  veil 
seemed  to  drop  before  his  mind,  making  very  dim  his  per- 
ception of  all  earthly  things.  Then  ten  thousand  fiery  stars 
danced  before  his  eyes,  an  awful  roar  encompassed  him — a 
shock — and  then  nothing. 

White  had  stumbled  squarely  upon  the  head  of  a  long- 
horned  range  steer,  drifting  blindly  before  the  blizzard. 
The  startled  animal  raised  his  head,  flinging  the  man  head- 
long and  he  went  squarely  through  the  blanket  which  the 
Haldorsens  had  nailed  over  the  doorway  of  their  dug-out. 
Elsa  had  replaced  the  blanket  and  piled  corn  against  it 
while  the  mother  searched  White's  pockets  for  the  matches 
which  every  frontiersman  carries  and  which  meant  life  or 
death  to  them  all.  She  found  them,  and  when  White  came 
to  his  senses  corn  was  burning  merrily  in  the  little  fire- 
place, and  the  women  and  children  were  rubbing  his  hands 
and  feet.  Elsa  held  his  head  in  her  lap,  and  when  White 
opened  his  eyes  she  said: 

"I  tole  my  mutter  you  vas  come  before  we  die." 

With  warm,  strong  arms  she  pressed  his  cheek  against  a 
bosom  throbbing  with  the  strong  heartbeats  that  come 
when  the  undiscriminating  affection  of  childhood  is  sud- 
denly transformed  into  the  great  sex  love  which  shall  dom- 
inate a  woman's  life. 

She  kissed  his  lips.  "You  vas  goot,"  she  said;  "I  lofes 
vou." 


Hoopa  Valley  is  situated  in  the  northeastern  corner  of 
Humboldt  County,  near  the  boundary  line  of  Trinity 
County.  Many  years  ago  a  wandering  band  of  Apaches 
climbed  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  Trinity  summit  and,  looking 
down,  saw  a  valley  below  them,  green,  beautiful,  and 
abounding  in  live  oak,  with  Trinity  River  winding  its  way 
through  its  park-like  length.  They  climbed  down  the  al- 
most perpendicular  walls  of  the  level  lands  below  and 
pitched  their  tents  on  the  slopes  above  the  river. 

Years  afterward,  when  their  arrival  in  the  valley  had  be- 
come lost  in  the  mist  of  tradition,  the  country  began  to  be 
inhabited  by  white  people,  to  whom  the  Hoopa  Indians  be- 
came a  constant  menace.  Finally  a  horrible  massacre 
caused  the  Government  to  establish  Fort  Gaston  in  the 
valley,  and  Captain  John,  the  Hoopa  chief,  was  taken  to 
San  Francisco  to  see  the  people.  He  went  back  to  Hoopa 
subdued  and  with  a  broken  spirit;  gathering  the  chiefs 
around  him  on  the  beach  by  the  river,  he  took  up  a  great 
handful  of  sand,  saying:  "The  white  people  are  as  many  as 
the  grains  in  my  hand,  and  it  only  means  death  to  attempt 
to  fight  them."  Since  then  peace  has  reigned ;  the  Govern- 
ment, finding  no  use  for  the  fort  and  the  soldiers,  removed 
them,  leaving  only  the  Captain  in  charge. 

The  entrance  to  Hoopa  is  by  trail,  although  there  is  a 
road  in  most  wretched  condition  from  infrequent  travel. 
You  leave  Eureka,  the  county  seat,  travel  to  a  small  town 
known  as  Korbel,  and  from  there  go  straight  up  the  moun- 
tain to  a  small  road-house,  which  resembles  nothing  quite 
as  much  as  a  robber's  roost,  and  is  known  as  the  Mountain 
House.  Here  the  first  stop  is  made.  The  trip  after  that  is 
over  a  narrow  pack  trail,  through  gorges,  and  around  preci- 
pices, and,  just  before  Hoopa  is  reached,  it  is  necessary  to 
pass  Cape  Horn,  a  horrible  promontory,  around  which  the 


THE  INDIANS  OF  HOOPA   VALLEY.      81 

4 

path  winds  like  a  tiny  thread  hundreds  of  feet  above  the 
creek.  The  view  beyond  Cape  Horn,  however,  quite  repays 
one  for  this  really  thrilling  experience. 

The  valley  is  about  twelve  miles  long  and  three  or  four 
across,  with  sides  so  steep  and  high  that  the  sun  disappears 
early  in  the  afternoon,  even  on  the  longest  Summer  days. 
Through  the  centre  flows  the  Trinity,  broad,  treacherous 
and  deep,  with  innumerable  tributary  streams,  and  at  inter- 
vals, wild,  foaming  rapids  on  its  otherwise  quiet  surface. 
The  river  seems  to  be  a  division  between  civilization  and  an 
advanced  degree  of  barbarism.  On  the  west  side  are  the 
Indian  schools,  the  houses  belonging  to  the  Captain  and  the 
teachers  and  the  United  States  Fish  Commission,  all  ar- 
ranged around  a  great  circular  park  with  gravel  paths, 
fountains  and  a  most  beautiful  lawn.  Above  and  below  are 
the  Indians  who  live  in  frame  houses,  the  half-breeds  and 
"squaw  men." 

Across  the  river  a  different  state  of  things  exists.  I  re- 
member being  piloted  over  to  the  other  side  last  Summer  in 
a  canoe  and  starting  with  a  small  party  to  investigate  an 
almost  unknown  country. 

The  first  hut  we  reached  belonged  to  Captain  John,  who 
holds  undisputed  sway  over  the  east  side  of  the  river  and  is 
the  most  magnificent  Indian  I  have  ever  seen.  He  is  tall 
and  perfectly  erect,  with  a  face  cut  like  a  cameo.  Old  men, 
bent  and  worn  out,  say  that  when  they  were  boys  Captain 
John  was  an  old  man,  but  time  has  dealt  lightly  with  him, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  iron-grey  hair,  he  does  not  look  over 
fifty.  He  is  believed  to  be  about  one  hundred  and  ten  years 
of  age. 

When  we  arrived  at  his  hut  he  was  down  in  the  smoke- 
house, but  he  came  up,  and  with  the  dignity  of  a  Chester- 
field invited  us  in,  sitting  before  us  in  stony  silence,  while 
his  brother,  who  is  Captain  John's  shadow,  delivered  a 
monologue  in  a  strange  gutteral  tongue. 

The  smoke-house  is  a  primitive  Turkish  bath,  made  by 
digging  a  hole  in  the  ground  and  covering  it  with  an  air- 
tight roof.  The  Indian  goes  in  through  a  small  hole  with  a 
sliding  door,  which  he  closes  behind  him.  Once  within  he 
builds  a  raging  fire  and  lies  down  with  his  face  to  the  floor 
till  the  heat  becomes  unbearable  and  his  body  is  in  a  heavy 
perspiration,  then  the  rushes  out  and  jumps  into  the  river, 
which  is  always  freezing  cold. 

The  bank  of  the  river  is  lined  with  these  smoke-houses, 
and  behind  them  is  the  burying  ground,  possibly  placed 
there  in  a  spirit  of  irony.  When  an  Indian  dies  he  takes 
all  his  worldly  possessions  with  him,  and  the  hut  in  which 
he  dies  is  burned  to  the  ground.  Over  his  grave  on  a  cross 
bar  his  miserable  clothes  are  hung,  and  on  the  ground,  in 
unstudied  carelessness,  lie  bits  of  crockery  and  glass  greatly 
cherished  by  him  in  his  lifetime. 


82  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

Most  of  the  Indians  on  Captain  John's  side  of  the  river 
live  in  the  dug-out  houses,  which  look  like  a  hut  about  three 
feet  high,  with  no  visible  entrance.  Hidden  away  some- 
where under  the  eaves  of  the  roof  there  is  a  round  hole  with 
a  flat  well  worn  stone  in  front.  To  enter  one  must  get  down 
on  hands  and  knees,  push  back  the  sliding  door,  and  crawl 
through  the  hole.  Inside  there  is  a  small  platform  with  a 
ladder  leading  down  into  wrhat  at  first  seems  a  bottomless 
pit.  With  the  eyes  accustomed  to  the  light  a  deep  room 
can  be  seen,  with  a  fire  in  one  corner,  blankets  on  the 
ground,  and  in  every  convenient  place  some  kind  of  a  basket 
filled  with  acorns,  nuts  or  meal.  It  is  in  the  dug-outs  that 
the  best  "finds"  are  made  by  the  collector.  This  is  where 
the  squaw  cooks  saw-haw  by  throwing  red-hot  stones  in  a 
large,  brown  basket  full  of  acorn  meal  and  water,  to  be 
eaten  later  from  the  same  basket  by  the  family,  all  using 
one  spoon  of  elk  horn,  carved  by  some  ancestor,  for  the  elk 
are  now  extinct  in  California. 

There  is  very  little  use  for  money  in  Hoopa,  as  the  Indians 
are  provided  for  by  the  Government;  it  is  therefore  quite 
difficult  to  buy  their  work.  Their  ideas  of  money  are  most 
confused.  Many  a  time  a  really  beautiful  basket  can  be 
bought  for  about  half  its  value  from  a  squaw  who  will  the 
next  moment  ask  the  same  price  for  an  old  wooden  pipe. 
A  store  has  been  established  of  late  years  near  the  agency, 
and  quite  a  traffic  started  in  baskets,  which  are  shipped 
from  Hoopa  to  all  parts  of  the  United  States,  so,  perhaps, 
as  the  Indian's  need  for  money  increases  his  ideas  on  the 
subject  may  become  more  clear. 

The  Hoopa  baskets  are  very  beautiful,  but  not  quite 
equal  to  the  standard  of  the  Porno  weaves.  The  Hoopa 
squaws  never  use  feathers  or  beads  in  their  patterns,  but 
what  is  lost  that  way  is  made  up  by  most  exquisite  designs. 
The  baskets  used  for  caps  are  particularly  beautiful,  being 
made  of  the  finest  basket  straw,  the  pattern  worked  in  with 
the  black  stems  of  the  maiden-hair  fern. 

The  shapes  of  baskets  are  an  interesting  study,  as  nearly 
every  one  has  a  tradition  or  significance  attached.  There  is 
the  white-deer-skin-dance  basket,  shaped  like  an  acorn,  in 
which  the  Indian  brings  his  most  valuable  possessions  to 
the  annual  dance.  The  idea  involved  is  quite  apparent, 
that  from  those  small  belongings  greater  ones  may  grow, 
as  the  oak  grows  from  the  acorn. 

Then  there  is  the  saw-haw  basket,  the  Indian  k  pan,"  and 
innumerable  others,  each  with  its  individual  use  and  most 
apparent  raison  d'  etre. 

Even  in  Hoopa  Valley,  isolated  as  it  is,  the  old  Indian 
customs  are  fast  dying  out.  The  dances  which  in  past 
years  were  frequent  and  indulged  in  by  the  entire  band, 
including  the  Klamath  Indians  from  Wichpec,  are  now  only 


INDIANS  OF  HOOPA   VALLEY.      83 


danced  by  the  older  men,  who  in  a  few  years  will  be  gone, 
leaving  in  their  places  only  a  wretched  band  of  half-breeds 
and  civilized  braves  from  the  schools. 

Last  year  the  Indians  had  what  will  doubtless  be  the  last 
boat  dance  in  Hoopa  Valley.  At  dusk  Captain  John  and 
his  men  gathered  together  on  the  river,  two  in  each  canoe, 
and  standing  erect,  swayed  from  side  to  side,  chanting  a 
most  melancholy  dirge.  On  the  shore  the  squaws  knelt, 
moving  their  bodies  in  accordance  with  the  rising  and  fall- 
ing of  the  chant  and  weeping  bitterly  the  while.  It  is  most 
weird  and  impressive  to  watch  in  the  gathering  darkness. 
Its  origin  and  meaning  is  quite  unknown. 

There  is  so  much  of  interest  to  mention  in  connection 
with  this  almost  unknown  and  inaccessible  corner  of  the 
State  that  one  hardly  knows  where  to  begin  or  when  to 
stop,  but  to  the  ambitious  tram  per  I  would  say  that  it  is 
well  worth  a  visit,  even  with  the  attendant  hardships.  Not 
only  is  the  Hoopa  Valley  beautiful,  but  the  country  passed 
through  is  picturesque  beyond  description  and  barely 
equalled  by  the  Yosemite.  —  A.  K.  D. 


SENSE  AND  NONSENSE. 

B/ 
CHARLES  7\.  MURDOCK. 

Sense  in  a  human  being  springs  from  a  harmonious  rela- 
tion of  all  his  powers.  It  is  twin  brother  to  judgment  out 
of  reason  by  imported  insight.  Sense  is  what  makes  a  man 
an  idiot  if  he  doesn't  have  it.  Sense  has  fine  staying  pow- 
ers, and  often  distances  genius,  brilliancy,  and  the  whole 
field  of  thoroughbreds.  The  man  of  sense  is  the  man  we 
lean  on.  He  is  the  salt  that  keeps  the  human  sea  from 
spoiling;  he  is  the  balance  wheel  that  prevents  the  cranks 
from  moving  too  fast,  the  governor  that  regulates  the 
steam,  the  brake  that  holds  the  wheels  on  the  down  grade. 
He  is  the  combined  judge  and  jury  at  the  bar  of  mankind. 
He  is  the  man  that  knows,  and  the  only  one  whose  advice  is 
worth  taking.  The  sensible  man  knows  what  is  good  for 
him.  He  is  never  intemperate  either  in  his  appetite  or  his 
mind.  He  is  balanced  and  self-controlled.  He  is  far- 
sighted  and  long-minded,  fair  and  just;  too  wise  to  be  con- 
ceited, too  just  to  be  selfish.  He  is  never  a  spendthrift  and 
never  a  miser.  Prodigality  and  parsimony  are  equally 
shunned.  He  is  neither  skeptical  nor  credulous.  He 
doubts  till  he  is  convinced,  but  his  mind  is  open  and  he  is 
ready  to  be  convinced.  He  believes  what  he  has 'accepted 
with  a  firmness  that  holds  him  securely,  but  is  not  immov- 
able. He  has  strong  convictions  and  he  acts  fearlessly  on 
them,  but  he  never  feels  that  he  has  compassed  all  of  truth. 
His  mind  is  hospitable  and  his  heart  is  generous  and  kindly. 
He  is  a  man  of  good-will,  and  is  willing  to  help  or  be  helped, 
as  occasion  warrants.  He  is  not  without  pride,  but  there  is 
too  much  of  him  to  be  vain.  He  is  just  to  others  and  to 
himself.  He  is  neither  too  timid  nor  too  confident.  He 
loves  peace,  but  will  fight  for  sufficient  cause.  He  is  perse- 
vering, but  knows  when  it  is  folly  to  continue.  If  he  is  very 
sensible  he  avoids  not  only  vices  but  overdone  virtues.  He 
walks  erect,  but  is  in  no  danger  of  falling  over  backwards. 
He  is  as  far  from  gloom  and  pessimism  as  he  is  from  hilar- 
ious optimism.  He  is  neither  despairing  and  doubtful  nor 
ridiculously  sanguine.  He  has  a  strong  self-respect,  but  is 
not  unduly  sensitive  and  thin-skinned.  He  is  calm  and  col- 
lected, but  not  without  impulse  and  enthusiasm.  He  is 
cool,  but  capable  of  being  excited.  He  is  the  typical  aver- 
age man,  not  the  highest  type  of  genius,  perhaps,  not  the 


SENSE  AND  NONSENSE.  £5 

leader  of  the  race,  the  inspired  prophet,  the  poet,  the  re- 
former. He  is  the  every-day,  all-around,  uncracked,  staple 
product.  What  beef  and  bread  are  to  the  daily  diet  the 
man  of  sense  is  to  the  life  of  the  world.  He  represents 
health,  balance,  soundness. 

But  the  man  of  sense  may  relish  nonsense.  The  capacity 
to  appreciate  it  is  a  gift  apart,  like  an  ear  for  music.  There 
are  worthy  people  who  are  color  blind,  and  others  most 
worthy  in  their  benighted  way  who  have  no  appreciation  of 
nonsense.  This  delightful  atmosphere  of  the  mind  must 
not  be  confounded  with  folly.  It  is  the  complement,  not 
the  antithesis  of  sense.  To  state  it  arithmetically,  as  work 
is  to  play,  so  is  sense  to  nonsense.  It  is  the  unchecked  rein, 
the  slippered  foot,  the  unbent  bow,  the  loosened  tension. 
It  is  relaxation,  recreation,  change,  renewal.  It  is  the  great 
lubricant  of  the  machinery  of  daily  life.  It  is  the  salt  and 
pepper  without  which  a  stew  would  be  wholly  unpalatable. 
It  is  to  be  used  sparingly  or  the  dish  is  spoiled.  The  true 
proportion  is  expressed  in  the  ancient  saw,  beginning  "a 
little  nonsense,  now  and  then."  So  used,  it  promotes 
health  and  digestion.  It  surely  has  its  place  in  a  normal 
human  character,  and  a  world  without  it  would  be  unendur- 
able. There  is  enough  in  life  to  make  us  sober.  God 
knows  that,  and  so  he  makes  it  possible  for  us  to  be  merry 
at  times.  Wit  sparkles  in  the  human  mind,  and  humor 
warms  the  human  heart.  Man  is  gifted  with  the  capacity 
to  laugh.  It  is  pretty  hard  work  for  some  of  the  species, 
and  many  have  precious  little  to  laugh  at,  poor  souls,  but 
the  fact  that  man  can  laugh  is  an  unmeasured  blessing,  and 
when  he  does  he  should  give  thanks.  The  true  man  of  sense 
has  room  for  a  modicum  of  nonsense.  If  he  hasn't  he  is 
not  sensible.  Shakespeare  was  wholly  sane,  and  he  could 
both  moan  in  agony  and  shriek  with  laughter.  Timon  and 
Falstaff,  what  a  contrast.  lago  and  Touchstone,  what  a 
world  between  them.  Prospero,  what  a  god-like  man. 
Caliban,  how  near  the  brute.  Even  the  grave  and  reverend 
Gladstone  knows  his  Lewis  Carroll,  as  he  is  said  to  have 
reproved  a  clergyman  who  spoke  disrespectfully  of  the 
Snark,  and  he  expressed  an  opinion  that  no  man  was  worthy 
of  ecclesiastical  preferment  who  had  doubts  as  to  a  Boojum. 

We  feel  that  Carlyle  was  less  great  because  of  his  sar- 
donic temper,  while  Emerson  gains  in  power  from  the  gentle 
humor  that  plays  between  his  lofty  thoughts.  Dear,  de- 
lightful Charles"  Lamb,  how  the  world  loves  him  for  his 
sunny  soul;  and  Sydney  Smith,  what  a  joy  provoker  has  he 
been.*  If  the  man  who  makes  two  blades  of  grass  to  grow 
where  one  has  grown  before  is  a  benefactor  to  mankind, 
how  much  greater  is  the  gift  of  him  who  coaxes  a  smile 
from  a  weary  soul,  or  makes  a  laugh  to  spring  where  none 
was  known  before.  There  are  people  in  the  world  who  are 
so  constructed  that  they  cannot  get  beyond  the  utilities. 


86  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

If  a  thing  is  not  useful  it  is  of  no  value  whatever.  They 
are  well  enough  as  far  as  they  go,  but  what  right  has  a  veg- 
etable garden  to  scorn  and  sneer  at  the  flowers  and  vines 
that  fill  the  eye  with  beauty  and  the  air  with  fragrance  but 
are  of  no  use  when  it  comes  to  a  boiled  dinner?  There  are 
other  things  in  the  world  besides  usefulness,  and  there  are 
forms  of  use  we  know  very  little  about.  The  practical  man 
is  somewhat  apt  to  look  upon  anything  not  practical  with 
contempt  and  impatience,  but  there  is  a  whole  world  be- 
yond his  little  potato  patch. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  has  a  sense  of  humor  and  sees  the 
amusing  side  of  things.  He  does  not  wear  out  as  quickly 
as  your  always  serious  man  whose  eyes  never  twinkle  and 
who  never  laughs  aloud.  Of  course  a  man  must  not  be 
intemperate  in  it.  The  constant  joker,  or  the  man  whose 
face  never  straightens  out  with  seriousness  or  earnestness 
is  very  tiresome,  and  brings  good-nature  into  disrepute 
with  the  undiscriminating.  The  constant  punster  is  a  great 
trial,  though  commonly  a  small  man.  He  is  a  human  gnat 
whose  annoyance  is  aggravated  by  reason  of  his  being  so 
little. 

The  parody  is  another  dangerous  form  of  wit.  Many  a 
noble  poem  has  been  spoiled  by  a  vile  travesty  that  by  the 
depravity  of  the  intellect  sticks  when  we  wish  it  might  be 
forgotten.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  some  clever  paro- 
dies that  do  no  harm,  but  give  much  innocent  delight.  Bret 
Harte  has  done  nothing  better  than  his  condensed  novels. 

Strictly  speaking,  wit  and  humor  cannot  be  considered 
the  antithesis  of  sense,  for  they  must  have  great  sense  or 
they  fail  to  be;  but  one  gets  a  better  idea  of  the  true  relation 
of  sense  and  nonsense  if  the  question  is  broadened  by  add- 
ing to  the  side  of  sense  that  idea  of  utility  and  practicality 
with  which  it  is  on  such  intimate  terms,  and  of  coupling 
with  nonsense  all  that  is  facetious  and  mirth  provoking, 
those  varied  expressions  of  fun  and  frolic  that  pertain  to 
man  in  his  off-duty  hours.  Time  was  when  our  morbid  an- 
cestors felt  that  enjoyment  was  questionable,  and  their 
overstrict  conscience  caused  them  to  look  askance  at  friv- 
olity and  merriment,  but  we  are  over  that  now,  and  wisely 
class  them  with  our  privileges.  We  ought  to  indulge  in 
them  freely  when  we  can.  There  is  danger  of  our  slighting 
this  side  of  our  nature  from  our  devotion  to  business  and 
money-making,  even  as  our  fathers  did  from  devotion  to 
religious  observances.  Let  us  be  firmly  convinced  that 
there  is  a  time  for  all  things,  at  least  for  all  things  as  harm- 
less as  wit,  fun,  and  frolic,  and  let  us  try  to  keep  a  corner  in 
our  hearts  where  it  shall  be  cherished,  and  not  driven  out 
by  the  mad  rush  for  wealth,  nor  darkened  utterly  by  the 
trials  and  sorrows  of  life.  Let  us  carefully  cultivate  the 
garden  of  our  mind,  and  raise  all  manner  of  pleasant  fruit, 
but  leave  one  little  nook  where  the  vines  may  climb  at  will 
and  laugh  in  the  sunshine  without  a  thought  of  use. 


Tbe  Tryst. 

Bv 
WARREN  CHENEY. 

If  I  skirt  the  cherry  hedge 
As  the  clock  is  striking  eight; 
Turn  there  by  the  grass-plot's  edge. 
Passing  by  the  iron  gate, 
(Ugh !  I  hear  its  hinge  creak  still !) 
And,  silent  as  the  whip-poor-will 
Flitting  on  before  me,  wTedge 
Through  a  gap  I  know,  and  gain 
The  great  passion  vine  they  train 
Up  around  her  window  ledge — 
Then,  at  the  last,  silvery  stroke, 
If  I  whistle,  once,  twice — so — 
Like  the  little  house  owl's  call- 
Somehow,  in  the  dark,  I  know, 
Though  I  hear  no  sound  at  all, 
That  the  door  there  on  the  right 
Opens  slowly;  and  a  patch 
Of  shadow  drifts  along  the  wall 
Somewhat  less  than  woman's  height. 
Drifts,  and  flutters;   and  no  more 
Till  I  hear  the  smothered  scratch, 
In  the  gravel,  of  swift  feet, 
Rush  of  garments,  and  I  see 
There,  where  nothing  was  before, 
By  me  close  the  shadow  sweet 
Hands  outstretched  my  hands  to  greet, 
And  her  face  leaned  out  to  me. 


« 


88 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


SAN  FRANCISCO'S  NEEDS. 

Bv 
JAHES  D.  PHELAN. 

San  Francisco  has  grown  so  steadily  since  the  American 
occupation  of  California,  and  has  so  gracefully  and  easily 
taken  its  place  as  the  metropolis  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  that 
its  inhabitants  have  regarded  its  development  as  a  natural 
growth,  not  unlike  the  growth  of  plants  and  trees.  Little 
or  nothing  has  been  done  to  stimulate  its  development. 
Other  cities  have  been  pushed  ahead  by  organized  efforts, 
and  they  have  endeavored  in  a  few  years,  by  such  a  forcing 
process,  to  enjoy  the  apparent  stability  of  older  communi- 
ties. This  artificial  process  has  been  called  "booming." 
Now,  San  Francisco  has  never  been  subjected  to  anything 
of  this  kind,  and  hence  it  is  more  apt  to  maintain  its  posi- 
tion as  a  metropolis,  because  its  growth,  like  the  growth  of 
everything  that  is  permanent  and  enduring,  has  been  by 
slow  and  easy  stages.  It  possesses  in  its  bay  and  harbor  a 
magnificent  advantage  over  any  possible  competitor  for  the 
metropolitan  pre-eminence,  and  with  a  more  liberal  rail- 
road policy  than  it  has  enjoyed  in  the  past,  its  lost  com- 
merce should  speedily  be  regained  and  augmented.  There 
has  been  a  falling  off  since  1891  of  the  trade  of  this  city 
with  Australia,  with  Japan,  with  the  Hawaiian  Islands  and 
with  the  Philippine  Islands,  and  a  slight  increase  in  our 
trade  with  China.  But  there  are  movements  on  foot  which 
are  certainly  to  be  enumerated  among  the  needs  of  San 
Francisco  to  improve  our  trade  relations  with  foreign  coun- 
tries. 

The  new  life  which  has  been  infused  both  into  Japan  and 
China,  the  political  changes  in  Hawaii,  and  the  construc- 
tion of  the  trans-Siberian  railroad,  which  seems  to  insure  a 
line  of  steamships  between  San  Francisco  and  Vladvistock, 
the  opening  of  Alaska  and  the  ultimate  construction  of  the 
Nicaragua  Canal  are  certain  to  count  in  our  favor.  San 
Francisco  is  but  4,600  miles  from  Yokahama,  and  6,100 
miles  from  Hongkong,  which  is  considerably  less  than  half 
the  distance  to  the  great  maritime  ports  of  Europe  and  Eng- 
land. Furthermore,  San  Francisco  is  in  the  most  direct  line 
between  the  Oriental  ports  and  the  Nicaragua  Canal,  and 
perhaps  a  vessel  will  save  2,000  miles  by  touching  at  San 


yo  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

Francisco  rather  than  at  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  which  are 
popularly  believed  to  be  a  more  convenient  half-way  or  call- 
ing station  between  these  places. 

Having  perfected  our  facilities  for  dealing  with  the  out- 
side world,  which  means  the  enrichment  of  our  city  and  all 
the  people  thereof,  because  commerce  is  and  always  has 
been  a  vast  source  of  wealth,  we  can  turn  our  minds  to  the 
consideration  of  internal  development.  In  order  to  make  a 
market  for  our  domestic  manufactures,  we  must  make  them 
as  good  and  as  cheap  as  those  from  anywhere  else,  which 
can  be  done  by  a  more  thorough  technical  education  given 
to  young  mechanics  and  artisans  by  public  institutions; 
and  secondly,  by  the  enterprise  of  our  business  men  in  seek- 
ing markets  through  agencies,  Boards  of  Trade,  Manufac- 
turers' and  Producers'  Associations,  and  instrumentalities 
of  that  kind.  When  wealth  and  prosperity  come  to  a  city, 
as-  they  have  come  during  the  last  50  years  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  later  generations  naturally  turn  to  the  other  and 
pleasanter  side  of  life,  and  endeavor,  which  is  now  among 
the  most  urgent  of  our  needs,  to  bring  about  conditions  of 
municipal  life  favorable  to  the  health,  comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  the  people.  Not  only  must  the  workshop  be  kept 
busy,  but  the  house  must  be  kept  sanitary,  clean  and  beau- 
tiful. 

When  any  extensive  municipal  work  shall  be  undertaken, 
the  city  is  in  a  position  to  use  its  credit.  It  owes  no  money 
now.  If  we  are  to  build  for  all  time  we  should  not  pay  for 
all  time,  and  if  posterity  is* going  to  benefit  by  our  improve- 
ments of  to-day,  posterity  should  bear  a  part  of  the  burden. 
It  is  to  be  assumed  that  public  initiative  will  be  followed 
by  private  enterprise,  and  that  theatres,  museums,  libra- 
ries and  galleries  will  come  to  San  Francisco,  following  the 
demands  of  artistic  taste,  or  perhaps  as  a  legacy  of  her  suc- 
cessful citizens.  These  matters,  in  a1  community  where  art, 
music  and  the  drama  are  not,  as  in  Europe,  subsidized,  are 
no  less  a  growth  than  a  gift.  The  taste  must  be  here  to  ap- 
preciate them  before  they  come,  but  they  certainly  will 
come  when  that  taste  is  developed.  The  artistic  taste  of 
San  Francisco  is  un  fait  accompli,  and  these  pressing  needs 
of  civilized  life  should  have  their  temples.  Private  citizens 
should  look  with  affection  and  pride  upon  the  city  which 
has  been  the  field  of  their  successful  labors,  and  bequeath 
legacies  of  usefulness  and  beauty,  ennobling  and  civilizing 
in  their  influences,  and  thus  shall  they  be  remembered  by 
monuments  of  their  own  construction  in  the  city  of  the  liv- 
ing rather  than  by  neglected  shafts  in  the  city  of  the  dead. 
San  Francisco  will,  under  development  of  this  kind,  possess 
all  the  gratifications  of  an  enlightened  people,  and  will 
surely  be  the  Mecca  of  the  home-seeker  and  the  tourist  of 
the  American  continent,  and  be  a  resort  for  the  travelers 


SAN  FRANCISCO'S  NEEDS.  9i 

of  the  world.  Already  its  reputation  for  hospitality  is  ex- 
tensive and  well  deserved.  As  n  man  should  ascertain  those 
things  which  he  is  qualified  to  do,  and  do  them,  so  should 
a  city,  with  an  introspective  glance  see  her  own  capacity, 
and  cultivate  those  things  for  which  she  is  best  qualified. 
From  her  position  San  Francisco  must  necessarily  be  a 
great  market  and  exchange — an  emporium  of  trade  and 
commerce — and  her  merchants  should  take  advantage  of 
this  fact.  From  the  mildness  of  her  climate  and  from  the 
unparalleled  natural  attractions  of  California,  San  Fran- 
cisco should  perfect  herself  in  all  these  things  which  add  to 
the  pleasure  and  delight  of  mankind,  in  order  that  she  may 
not  only  draw  but  hold  that  large  and  increasing  population 
that  seeks  now  in  Europe  and  other  remote  countries  that 
relaxation,  repose  and  pleasure  which  conies  after  a  life  of 
toil;  drawing  their  incomes  from  other  lands  and  pouring 
them  into  the  lap  of  that  city  or  resort  which  most  com- 
mends itself  to  their  favor.  With  an  industrial  and  mer- 
cantile and  a  pleasure-seeking  population,  San  Francisco 
should  make  in  turn  her  contribution  to  civilization.  With 
beauty  of  land  and  sky  must  come  a  love  of  the  beautiful, 
and  in  no  remote  time  should  the  achievements  of  Greece 
and  Rome  be  paralleled  on  this  western  shore,  and  civiliza- 
tion, beginning  in  the  far  East,  having  made  the  circuit  of 
the  globe,  find  at  length  its  orbit  completed  and  its  highest 
development  attained  by  the  Golden  Gate.  This  has  been 
the  prognostication  of  observing  minds,  and  if  the  people 
of  this  city  will  share  such  confidence  in  their  own  future, 
they  will  enter  upon  the  work  of  San  Francisco's  regener- 
ation and  development  w7ith  a  fixity  of  purpose  and  enthu- 
siasm which  so  enchanting  a  prospect  invites,  and  in  the 
hope  of  its  consummation  find  at  once  their  inspiration  and 


REfllNISCENCES  OF  JOHN  Q.  WHITTIER. 


Well  do  I  remember  my  first  impression  of  the  unambi- 
tious poet.  It  was  at  a  Quaker  Tea  in  Philadelphia.  The 
Hungarian  patriot  Kossuth,  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  and 
Whittier  were  the  guests  of  honor,  but  the  exquisite  cour- 
tesy of  Lucretia  Mott  made  no  distinction  among  the  com- 
pany of  fifteen  or  twenty  assembled.  At  the  neatly  ap- 
pointed table  she  accorded  these  three  the  usual  seats  of- 
honor;  the  silent  grace  followed  by  Friends  was  not  omit- 
ted, her  dignified  husband  merely  bowing  his  head  as  a  sig- 
nal for  a  few  moments  silence. 

Whittier  was  a  shy,  diffident  man,  but  never  awkward, 
and  his  tall  and  manly  presence,  flashing  dark  eyes  and 
agreeable  voice  gave  added  impressiveness  to  his  earnest 
manner.  The  early  influence  of  his  Quaker  training  was  to 
him,  as  it  has  been  to  many  others,  a  school  of  repression; 
and  while  fertility  of  ideas  was  not  wanting,  the  absence  of 
fluency  of  speech  and  a  natural  modesty  that  he  never  over- 
came, rendered  him  taciturn  in  a  general  company,  though 
he  talked  admirably  when  the  circle  consisted  only  of  a  few 
intimates.  Yet  he  was  quick  to  enjoy  the  airy  nothings 
which  floated  about  society  at  this  tea.  I  watched  him,  the 
center  of  a  crowd  of  people,  gradually  thaw  out,  break  into 
laughter  at  some  sally,  and  then  come  into  the  tilt  with  a 
brilliant  repartee.  These,  however,  soon  changed  their  spar- 
kle, as  the  explosive  voice  of  Garrison  and  the  mild  tones 
of  our  host  attracted  attention.  One  by  one  each  individual 
was  drawn  into  conversation,  animated,  witty,  serious,  dis- 
cursive. Books,  journalism,  the  impending  crisis,  Califor- 
nia and  its  stirring  probobilities,  the  suffrage  question,  etc. 
There  was  a  coterie  at  that  table  whose  names  have  since 
grown  into  fame.  The  evening  passed  away  leaving  pun- 
gent and  agreeable  recollections  of  hours  delightfully  spent 
and  a  conviction  that  talk  was  not  a  lost  art,  in  that 
charmed  circle  at  least. 

Whittier's  fund  of  humor  was  so  keen,  that  he  enjoyed 
recounting  his  own  blunders  during  his  school  teaching 
days,  in  the  process  of  boarding  around.  These  recitals  en- 
livened a  pleasant  ride  I  took  with  him  one  Sunday  after- 
noon to  the  scene  of  his  early  poem  "Mogg  Megone."  In- 


REMINISCENCIES  OF  WHITTIER        93 

dian  legendary  lore  was  an  attractive  subject,  and  he  was 
fond  of  catching  his  inspiration  from  the  landscape  before 
him.  On  another  occasion  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  Mar- 
blehead — that  quaint  old  town  which  still  retains  many  of 
its  old-fashioned  homes,  and  where,  in  ancient  days, 

"Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Was  tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead." 

The  reading  of  that  poem  by  the  author  himself  is  im- 
pressed on  my  memory  as  one  of  the  pleasant  incidents  of 
that  delightful  visit.  After  our  return,  when  the  early  tea 
was  over,  as  we  sat  on  the  open  porch  he  looked  fatigued, 
so,  passing  into  the  library  adjoining  I  selected  a  volume  of 
his  works,  and  said:  "Now  I  am  going  to  indulge  myself  by 
reading  an  author's  own  lyrics  to  him." 

He  smiled,  and  replied : 

"I  suppose  thee  thinks  that  will  be  a  treat." 

"As  they  are  John  G.  Whittier's  they  should  be,"  I  an- 
swered. I  turned  to  "Parson  Avery's  Swan  Song." 

"The  clouds  were  golden  in  the  west,  the  summer  air  had 

lulled  to  a  zephyr,  the  flowers  were  closing  their  chalices,  and 

their  faint  fragrant  aroma  permeated  the  atmosphere  with  its 

sweetness." 

"  The  clouds  were  golden  in  the  west,  the  summer  air  had  lulled  to 
a  zephyr,  the  flowers  were  closing  their  chalices,  and  their  faint 
fragrant  aroma  permeated  the  atmosphere  with  its  sweetness." 

"The  reaper's  task  was  ended 
And  the  summer  wearing  late." 

Whittier  listened  attentively,  and,  as  I  finished,  said : 

"Well,  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  poetry  read  to  me,  but 
this  is  the  first  time  anyone  has  read  me  my  own." 

Evidently  he  was  pleased.  With  that  encouragement  I 
went  on.  Several  others  followed,  and  at  last  1  turned  to 
"Floyd  Ireson."  He  criticized  my  reading  of  that,  said  I 
bad  not  caught  the  proper  intonation,  and  taking  the  book 
from  my  hand  read  the  refrain  as  I  had  never  before  heard 
it,  and  never  shall  again.  The  peculiar  pronunciation,  the 
cries  of  the  "old  wives  grey"  seemed  mingled  into  a  curse, 
and  I  could  almost  hear  the  rattle  of  the  car  over  the  stones 
and  see  the  tarred  and  feathered  penitent  skipper,  writhing 
in  agonies  of  remorse  "left  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin." 

The  library  was  the  pleasantest  and  most  interesting 
feature  of  the  house  at  Amesbury.  Its  alcoves  were  filled 
with  such  a  varietv  of  volumes  that  no  one  would  have 


94  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

thought  their  owner  was  not  a  scholarly  man — which  in  the 
strictest  sense  of  the  word  Whittier  was  not.  But  his  range 
of  interest  was  so  extensive,  his  intuition  so  quick,  his  mem- 
ory so  good  that  he  retained  almost  all  he  read.  His  corres- 
pondence with  scientific  as  well  as  literary  men  and  women 
was  so  profuse  that  for  some  years  before  his  death  he 
found  it  difficult  to  get  through  the  amount  of  labor  it  in- 
volved To  his  most  intimate  friends  he  always  wrote  per- 
sonally, employing  an  amunuensis  as  seldom  as  possible. 
Until  within  recent  years  his  sight  and  hearing  were  unim- 
paired, but  later,  he  acknowledged  he  felt  them  failing,  and 
was  obliged  to  restrict  both  the  number  and  length  of  his 
letters ;  in  many  of  them  alluding  to  the  end  which  he  felt 
to  be  near,  and  expressing  faith  and  trust  in  the  mercy  and 
love  of  the  infinite  Father.  In  a  note  received  sometime 
after  my  visit  East,  he  says: 

"I  miss  my  old  friends  still;  Emerson,  Fields,  and  Long- 
fellow especially,  and  at  times  a  feeling  of  great  loneliness 
conies  over  me.  Dr.  Holmes  and  I  meet  often,  and  talk  of 
those  who  have  gone  from  us,  and  the  near  change  which 
awaits  us  also.  I  have  seen  a  good  many  people  recently, 
some  of  our  gifted  women  have  been  here,  Elizabeth  Stuart 
Phelps,  Celia  Thaxter,  Annie  Field,  Sara  B.  Jewett  and 
others.  I  have  more  and  warmer  friends  than  I  deserve. 
But  I  am  very  thankful  for  them  nevertheless." 

There  is  such  an  abundance  of  rich  material  to  choose 
from  in  culling  stray  passages  from  the  life  of  an  individual 
whose  every  phase  reveals  variations  of  beautiful  color  in 
whatever  light  it  is  presented,  that  I  have  searched  in  vain 
for  some  foil  to  the  universal  verdict  of  praise,  and  tried  to 
discover  some  flaw  which  might  by  any  possibility  be  a  de- 
fect in  the  crystal  clearness  of  a  character  so  unusual,  so 
unworldly,  so  readily  adapting  itself  to  the  minor  of  sor- 
row, and  the  major  of  joy. 

Think  of  it!  not  a  touch > of  blighting  immorality  in  a 
single  word  he  has  ever  written,  not  a  suggestion  that  a 
mother  might  not  sing  to  her  baby  girl,  and  he  lived  eighty- 
four  years  a  rounded  life  of  spotless  integrity. 

John  Gr.  Whittier  was  a  material  illustration  of  spiritual 
force,  living  out  its  meaning  for  mankind,  while  writing  out 
its  inspiration.  There  is  often  a  great  distinction  between 
the  man  and  the  Poet,  but  in  him  the  need  for  this  separa- 
tion did  not  exist.  Nay,  his  name  will  grow  into  greater 
prominence  as  the  world  grows  into  a  more  reverential  con- 
ception of  the  grandeur  of  the  human  soul,  and  the  seed  he 
has  sown  will  come  to  a  yet  more  abundant  fruitage.  As 
man,  poet,  patriot,  and  philanthropist,  he  will  stand  fore- 
most in  that  company  of  gifted  ones,  who  in  recent  years 


REMINISCENCES  OF  WHITTIER.        95 

have  been  one  after  another  putting  on  the  garments  of  im- 
mortality. 

Whittier's  friendships  were  intimately  connected  with  all 
that  was  best,  noblest,  and  most  exhilarating  in  his  life. 
They  were  in  touch  with  every  reform  of  the  day.  They 
extended  far  beyond  the  narrow  bound  of  his  localities. 
From  the  Orient  he  had  letters  of  the  deepest  interest.  He 
knew  the  religious  movements  of  the  time,  not  from  books 
alone,  but  from  contact  with  travelers,  from  reports  of  mis- 
sionaries, from'  English  residents  of  India,  Japan,  Russia 
and  other  countries.  In  the  ''Friends'  Mission  in  Alaska" 
he  was  deeply  interested,  and  received  with  great  satisfac- 
tion the  report  of  its  progress,  from  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Wood- 
man, of  Oak  Knoll,  who  had  visited  it.  He  had  abundant 
sources  of  private  information  denied  to  others,  and  was 
well  posted  on  all  political  questions  of  importance.  Trans- 
lations of  his  books  were  sent  him  occasionally.  He  had 
letters  from  Daniel  Wheeler  in  far  off  Russia,  and  from 
Joseph  Sturge,  to  both  of  whom  he  has  paid  touching  poetic 
tributes.  His  poems  were  in  Tolstoi's  library.  I  might 
enumerate  the  names  of  hundreds  who  held  him  close  to 
their  hearts.  Bayard  Taylor  called  to  bid  him  good-bye 
when  he  started  to  see  "Europe  afoot,"  and  to  the  day  of 
his  death  kept  him  posted  on  all  his  journeyings.  He  used 
to  say  that  although  he  had  never  been  on  a  long  journey 
his  travels  had  been  singularly  extensive.  WTith  John 
Bright  and  other  English  parliamentarians  he  corresponded 
regularly.  Some  of  the  letters  he  received  from  embryo 
writers,  spring  chickens,  poets,  sentimental  Maud  Mullers, 
his  sense  of  honor  prevented  his  showing.  But  he  some- 
times told  of  them  in  a  humorous  mood  always  concealing 
names.  He  enjoyed  a  jest  as  he  would  a  ripe  juicy  apple, 
but  there  must  be  no  worm  at  the  core. 

And  his  visitors?  They  thronged  that  simple  cottage  at 
Amesbury;  they  came  from  everywhere.  They  came  by 
twos;  they  flocked  in  parties  of  five  or  six,  they  stared  at 
him;  they  asked  him  all  manner  of  questions:  they  pested 
him  for  introductions  to  editors;  they  wanted  his  opinion 
on  voluminous  manuscripts,  and  one  aspiring  youth  asked 
his  receipt  for  making  verses,  as  his  mother  might  have 
asked  one  for  making  hot  biscuits.  Other  visitors  he  had, 
the  great,  the  distinguished,  the  good;  and  he  met  them 
with  a  simple  manly  directness,  and  a  kind  hospitality  that 
knew  no  stint. 

Our  own  Ina  Coolbrith  saw  him  in  these  last  years,  and 
with  warmest  appreciation  of  her  poetical  gifts,  he  recog- 
nized the  quality  of  her  creative^  faculty,  and  took  her  into 
his  heart  and  home.  Thenceforth  she  was  his  cherished 


96  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

friend,  and  he  wrote  a  letter  of  earnest  thanks  to  the  friend 
who  had  introduced  them.  If  these  letters,  if  the  recollec- 
tions of  these  visitors  are  ever  published  they  will  make  a 
record  unequalled  in  the  annals  of  biographical  literature. 
Whittier  was  very  much  attached  to  a  nice  child  whose 
name  was  Phoebe.  One  day  Phoebe  came  to  him  with  a 
half-finished  epitaph  that  she  had  written  for  a  horse.  It 
read : 

"He  kicked  to  the  right, 
He  kicked  to  the  left, 
He  kicked  the  post  and  struck  it" — 

She  could  go  no  further,  she  appealed  to  her  uncle,  who 
added : 

"And  when  he  broke  his  leg  off — 
Why  then  he  kicked  the  bucket." 

When  her  cat  died  it  was  too  serious  an  event  for  Phoebe 
to  even  attempt  a  memorial.     So  Mr.  Whittier  wrote : 
"Bathsheba, 
Whereat 

None  ever  said,  'Scat!' 
A  worthier  cat 
Ne'er  sat  on  a  mat 
Or  killed  a  rat. 
Requiescat!" 

Some  one  asked  Whittier's  opinion  of  the  Shakers.  His 
reply  was: 

"I  do  not  know  anything  about  those  dancing  Dervishes. 
I  do  not  see  any  sense  in  such  performances.  I  was  always 
ashamed  of  King  David  for  dancing  before  the  Lord;  and  I 
never  blamed  his  wife  for  being  ashamed  of  him." 

In  an  attempted  visit  to  Hawthorne  on  one  occasion,  the 
scene  that  ensued  must  have  been  somewhat  ludicrous. 
Mr.  Whittier  related  it  with  great  amusement.  He  said: 

"Thee  knows  I  am  not  skilled  in  visits  and  small  talk, 
but  I  wanted  to  make  a  friendly  call  on  Hawthorne,  and 
one  morning — it  chanced  to  be  an  ill-fated  morning  for  this 
purpose — I  sallied  forth,  and  on  reaching  the  house  was 
ushered  into  a  lugubrious-looking  room  where  Hawthorne 
met  me  evidently  in  a  lugubrious  state  of  mind.  In  a 
rather  sepulchral  tone  of  voice  he  bade  me  good-morning, 
and  asked  me  to  be  seated  opposite  him,  and  we  looked  at 
each  other  and  remarked  about  the  weather;  then  came 
an  appalling  silence  and  the  cold  chills  crept  down  my 
back,  and  after  a  moment  or  two  I  got  up  and  said:  I 
think  I  will  take  a  short  walk! 

I  took  my  walk  and  returned  to  bid  him  good-morning, 
much  to  my  relief,  and  I  have  no  doubt  to  his." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  WHITTIER. 


97 


In  the  winter  of  1875,  as  some  friends  at  whose  house 
Whittier  had  been  a  welcome  and  honored  guest,  were 
about  sailing  for  Europe,  he  handed  them  an  envelope,  say- 
ing: 

"I  thought  thee  might  like  my  autograph." 
The  contents  were  as  follows: 

"What  shall  I  say,  dear  friends,  to  whom  I  owe 
The  choicest  blessings,  dropping  from  the  hands 
Of  trustful  love  and  friendship,  as  you  go 
Forth  on  your  journey  to  those  elder  lands, 
By  saint  and  sage  and  bard  and  hero  trod? 
Scarcely  the  simple  farewell  of  the  Friends 
Sufficeth:    After  you  my  full  heart  sends 
Such  benediction  as  the  pilgrim  hears 
Where  the  Greek  faith  its  golden  dome  uprears 
From  Crimea's  roses  to  Archangel  snows 
The  fittest  prayer  of  parting:     'Go  with  God!" 

— M.  B.  C. 


98 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


Tbe  Contributors  Club. 

Sure  of  a  cordial  welcome,  The  Mariposa  makes  its  bow.  You 
have  all  smiled  at  it — and  the  editors  feel  that  you  are  only  waiting 
to  see  it  "clothed  and  in  its  right  mind"  to  give  it  a  hearty  god- 
speed. Its  raison  d'etre  is  the  necessities  of  the  Ladies'  Relief  So- 
ciety of  Oakland,  whose  income  .das  been  greatly  curtailed  by  the 
depreciation  of  stocks  and  the  partial  withdrawal  of  the  State  aid. 

Thanks  to  our  generous  contributors,  we  can  place  before  you  a 
magazine  that  needs  no  apology.  The  articles  contained  in  these 
pages  have  been  freely  and  cheerfully  given,  and  William  Keith, 
Solly  Waters  and  Oscar  Maurer  have  joined  the  authors  in  making 
the  pages  attractive.  Our  cover  design  is  the  result  of  a  prize  con- 
test— the  award  being  made  to  Lawrence  Scammon  of  Oakland. 

In  joining  the  ranks  of  the  journalists  for  this  one  issue  we  wish 
to  express  our  thanks  for  the  friendly  welcome  they  have  accorded 
us.  We  have  been  greatly  aided  by  the  Oakland  Saturday  Night, 
The  Overland  Monthly  and  The  Wave.  The  daily  papers  of  San 
Francisco  and  Oakland  have  encouraged  us,  and  subscribers  and  ad- 
vertisers have  been  most  liberal.  The  Chinese  Love  Song,  from  the 
play  of  "The  First  Born,"  is  contributed  by  E.  W.  Armstrong, 
735  Market  street,  San  Francisco. 

Our  correspondence  with  some  writers  has  given  us  a  new  view  of 
their  difficult  position,  particularly  in  California.  We  print  below 
a  letter  received  from  Mr.  Gelette  Burgess,  who  exhausts  this  subject 
in  his  own  crisp  style. 

80  Washington  Square,  New  York,  Feb.  25th,  1898. 
My  Dear  Mrs.  -  — : 

I  am  very  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  contribute  to  your  magazine,  as 
you  have  invited  me,  but  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  do  so  in  my 
present  circumstances. 

At  the  risk  of  seeming  impertinent  (which  I  do  not  at  all  mean  to 
be),  will  you  permit  me  to  explain  that  an  article  of  the  length  you 
mention  to  which  I  should  be  willing  to  sign  my  name  means,  in  the 
first  place,  the  gift  of  a  salable  idea,  and  at  least  two  or  three  days' 
good  work.  It  means  giving  to  the  Relief  Society  what  would  bring 
me  from  twenty  to  forty  dollars,  well  earned.  While  I  would  not 
grudge  you  that  donation  could  I  afford  it,  and  felt  particularly  in 
sympathy  with  your  charity,  I  feel  that  I  must  let  you  know  that  a 
young  man  or  a  young  woman  who  has  gone  into  the  fight  of  earn- 
ing a  living  by  writing  cannot  possibly  afford  to  do  this.  I  am  one 
of  a  small  coterie  that  has  come  from  California  (all  within  the  last 
year)  to  take  the  field  in  competition  with  many  clever  writers  here, 


zoo  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 

and  as  I  suppose  you  have  made  the  same  request  to  them,  I  assume 
the  responsibility  of  answering  for  them,  myself,  for  I  doubt  if  they 
will  care  to  express  their  minds  as  fully  as  I  do.  Every  one  of  us 
has  had  the  experience  of  being  practically  driven  out  of  San  Fran- 
cisco for  lack  of  any  real  support  from  California  in  literary  work, 
and  have  found  a  certain  amount  of  recognition  in  the  East — if  but 
little,  at  least  more  than  at  home  (remembering,  of  course,  that  I  am 
not  a  Californian  by  birth).  There  is,  to  be  frank,  little  temptation 
in  the  fame  or  name  of  having  one's  work  published  in  California, 
under  such  circumstances,  when  we  can  reach  a  larger  audience, 
and  one  that  pays  for  what  it  reads. 

Forgive  me,  my 'dear  Mrs.  -  — ,  for  expressing  to  you  my 

opinions  on  a  subject  on  which  I  feel  very  deeply — believe  me,  there 
is  no  personal  feeling  whatever — but  it  is  the  first  opportunity  I  have 
had  of  freeing  my  mind.  I  do  not  think  it  is  quite  reasonable  for 
young  writers  who  have,  in  the  face  of  no  recognition  at  home  what- 
ever (excuse  the  Bull),  succeeded  in  getting  to  a  point  where  their 
work  is  salable,  and  where  they  dare  to  attempt  to  live  on  it,  to 
contribute  their  time,  brains,  and  money;  there  are  enough  who 
should  be  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  bring  themselves  into  notice. 

If  you  know  anything  of  my  life  in  San  Francisco,  you  know  that 
I  have  withheld  neither  my  time  nor  my  brains  in  services  which  it 
is  always  impossible  to  measure  in  money  value.  You  may  then, 
perhaps,  excuse  my  too  elaborate  explanation  of  my  attitude,  for  I 
fear  I  have  written  nearly  your  2,000  words  already.  Indeed,  you 
might  do  worse  than  print  this,  for  if  no  one  understands  that  this 
is  not  a  piece  of  the  rudeness  of  which  I  am  so  often  accused  they 
will  be  sure  it  came  from 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

GELETTE    BURGESS. 


In  response  to  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  editor  of  this  magazine, 
I  give  below  a  Colonial  recipe  for  cake,  and  one  for  punch,  and  an 
addition  of  two  others  culled  from  an  old  receipt-book,  hoary  with 
age,  but  sacred  to  the  memory  of  one  who  has  passed  beyond.  These 
ol-d  recipes  are  interesting,  as  contrasted  with  those  of  the  fin-de- 
siecle  schools  of  scientific  cooking,  where  the  educated  and  discrim- 
inating stomach  has  at  last  found  peace. 
Mt.  Vernon  Cake. 

Stir  together  until  very  light,  %  Ib.  of  butter  and  %  lb.  of  sugar; 
beat  the  yolks  and  whites  of  7  or  8  eggs,  separately,  the  whites  to  a 
stiff  froth;  stir  them  into  the  cake  and  add  a  generous  glass  of 
brandy,  a  grated  nutmeg,  and  1%  Ibs.  of  sifted  flour;  just  before  bak- 
ing, put  in  y2  pint  of  thick,  rich  cream  and  1  lb.  of  seeded  raisins. 
Old  Colonial  Punch. 

I  copy  it  as  it  stands  in  my  grandmother's  book.  It  was  handed 
down  to  her  in  regular  succession  from  her  grandmother,  who  cir- 
culated in  the  gay  Colonial  society  of  historic  Philadelphia.  Doubt- 
less, it  is  this  elixir  that  has  filtered  down  the  stream  of  time,  and 


THE  CONTRIBUTORS  CLUB.  101 

is  hardly  recognizable  in  our  up-to-date  punch  offered  at  afternoon 
teas  in  Berkeley  —  an  unknown  quantity  of  lemons,  sugar,  ice,  and 
strong  tea,  plunged  into  a  vast  sea  of  water. 
Continental  Strong. 

One  doz.  lemons,  1  doz.  oranges,  1  whole  pineapple,  2  quarts  of 
claret,  2  quarts  of  whisky,  two-  thirds  of  a  pint  of  strong  green  tea, 
y2  pint  of  rum.  Mix  these  ingredients  at  night,  cover  it;  next  day 
strain  and  add  one  or  two  bottles  of  genuine,  good  champagne. 
Should  not  be  made  too  sweet.  Enough  for  thirty-five  people  in  the 
good  old  times;  at  the  present  date,  by  adding  water,  could  be  made 
to  serve  eighty-five  or  a  hundred  people. 

Mammie  Lizzie  was  a  good  old  Southern  servant.  Cooking  was 
her  profession,  and  bread-making  one  of  her  specialties.  At  night, 
before  retiring,  she  went  for  it  with  an  energy  that  recalls  Elia's 
Sarah  Battle  before  beginning  whist.  .  "A  bright  fire,  a  clean  hearth, 
and  the  rigor  of  the  game."  A  committee  of  one,  she  went  into 
secret  session  with  closed  doors,  to  attend  to  her  devotions.  Bread- 
making  was  a  part  of  her  religion.  I  often  importuned  her  to  admit 
me  on  these  occasions,  but  she  said:  "Go  'long,  chile;  if  de  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  inspire  me  to  make  dem  rolls  rise,  I  am'  gwine  let  no 
nigger,  nor  white  pusson,  nuther,  see  me  mix  dem  ingregiunts." 
But  a  small  boy,  with  the  true  scientific  spirit  of  the  family,  waited 
and  watched,  and,  behold,  the  secret. 

The  old  darky  took  the  bread  to  bed  with  her  to  keep  up  an  even 
temperature.  On  this  depends  the  secret  of  the  following  recipe. 
The  old  darky  suffered  a  severe  reprimand.  She  died  soon  after,  "just 
befo'  de  wah."  It  is  fortunate,  perhaps,  that  the  dear  old  soul  died 
before  her  noble  art  went  down  amidst  the  crash  of  arms  and  a 
nation's  woe. 

Mammie  Lizzie's  Breakfast  Rolls. 

Rub  %  pound  of  sugar  into  3  pounds  of  sifted  flour.  Beat  6  eggs 
light;  add  to  them  a  sufficient  quantity  of  yeast,  say  y2  pint;  after 
beating  hard,  add  the  flour  and  sugar:  knead  well;  mix  at  night. 
In  the  morning,  work  in  6  oz.  of  butter.  Bake  in  small  rolls. 

—  Mrs.  Joe.  Le  Conte. 


JAPANESE  PAPER  NOVELTIES. 

The  partitions  dividing  the  houses  are  paper. 

The  yakounine  hat  which  passes  you  is  paper. 

The  handkerchief,  thrown  away  after  use,  is  paper. 

Those  robe  collars,  which  are  taken  for  crape,  are  paper. 

The  pane  through  which  an  inquisitive  eye  looks  at  you  is  paper. 

The  string  with  which  the  articles  you  buy  are  fastened  is  made 
of  paper. 

The  porter's  cloak,  who  carries  his  burden,  singing  a  cadence, 
through  the  rain,  is  made  of  paper. 

Those  elegant  flowers,  ornamenting  the  beautiful  hair  of  the 
Japanese  ladies,  are  made  of  paper- 

The  garments  of  the  boatman  who  conducts  you  on  board,  the 
tobacco-pouch,  cigar-case  —  all  are  paper. 


Prayer. 


—Composed  by  Mrs.  H.  C.  Bailey,  inmate  of  The  Aged  Women's 
Home,  74  years  old. 

Oh,   God  of   light,   whose   kindling  ray 
Has  brought  again  a  new-born  day, 
To  Thee  my  earliest  thoughts  I  raise, 
To  Thee  I  bring  my  heartfelt  praise. 

Beneath  thy  brooding  care  I  slept, 
Free  from  pain  and  danger  kept; 
Refreshed  I  wake  to  duty's  call, 
Ready  to  bear  whate'er  befall. 

Oh,  give  me  light  that  I  may  see 
Some  earnest  work  to  do  for  Thee; 
Some  erring  one  thy  love  to  show, 
Some  wandering  one  the  way  to  go. 

I  would  be  watchful  all  the  day, 
Careful  in  what  I  do  and  say, 
That,   when   the   evening   shades   appear, 
Sad  regrets  I  may   not  fear. 

When  the  work  of  day  is  done, 
How  gently  sinks  the  setting  sun! 
Oh,  grant  that  when  my  sum  shall  set, 
Softly  and  sweetly  I  pass  to  rest! 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


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THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


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BRIEF  HISTORY  OF  THE  LADIES'  RELIEF 
SOCIETY  OF  OAKLAND. 


From  the  little  circle  that  met  in  1871  to  contribute  its  share  to 
the  sufferers  from  the  Chicago  fire  grew  the  organization  which  has 
since  sheltered  over  fourteen  hundred  children  and  one  hundred  aged 
women,  in  its  spacious  and  well-appointed  domiciles,  located  upon 
ten  acres  of  land  in  Alameda  County.  It  has  not  been  the  work 
of  a  day,  but  the  painstaking  care  and  energetic  toil  of  many  years. 
Confronted  with  difficult  problems,  which  at  times  challenged  all 
the  skill  and  enterprise  of  its  projectors,  the  ladies  under  whose 
guidance  the  work  has  progressed  enlisted  the  support  of  friends 
and  benefactors,  and  step  by  step  have  increased  its  facilities,  until 
it  now  extends  a  loving  and  fostering  care  over  infancy  and  age. 

Drawn  together  in  the  cause  of  charity,  the  objects  thus  attained 
suggested  and  revealed  a  larger  field  of  action,  and  thus,  the  latent 
desires  which  previously  had  been  confined  within  the  breasts  of 
that  little  coterie  became  the  nucleus  of  a  great  and  good  result. 
On  May  1st,  1894,  the  building  used  as  the  Children's  Home  was  en- 
tirely destroyed  by  fire,  together  with  the  nursery  and  outbuildings. 
The  burned  building  was  originally  purchased  with  the  property  In 
1874,  which,  after  being  remodeled  and  having  several  additions 
made  to  it,  furnished  a  shelter  for  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
children.  It  was  in  every  respect  complete,  and  for  years  would 
have  answered  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  used;  but  in  the  short 
space  of  two  hours  the  immense  structure,  with  the  major  portion 
of  its  furniture,  was  a  mass  of  ruins,  leaving  over  one  hundred  child- 
ren without  a  home.  The  buildings  were  rapidly  replaced  by  a 
structure  with  all  modern  conveniences  and  improvements  for  the 
children,  and  the  de  Fremery  cottage  as  a  nursery.  Thus,  in  the 
period  of  twenty-two  years,  the  Society,  from  a  meeting  for  the  re- 
lief of  foreign  sufferers,  developed  into  one  of  the  grandest  charities 
in  the  State  for  the  care  and  support  of  helpless  infancy  and  help- 
less age.  A  retrospective  view  of  the  many  years  through  which  the 
organization  has  struggled,  brings  forcibly  to  mind  the  work  accom- 
plished by  many  who  have  departed,  but  whose  deeds  will  ever 
stand  forth  as  monuments  of  their  noble  and  generous  characters. 
Thus,  to-day,  after  twenty-six  years  of  hard  and  earnest  efforts,  the 
institution  stands  ready  to  minister  to  the  wants  and  necessities  of 
those  whom  misfortune  and  adversity  have  rendered  helpless,  rely- 
ing as  it  always  has  upon  the  generosity  of  its  friends  to  provide 
for  its  daily  needs  in  carrying  out  God's  work  by  extending  the  Sa- 
maritan hand  to  the  distressed.  LUCY  E.  DAM. 


Officers  for  the  Year  J898. 


Honorary  President Mrs.  Iy.  E.  Dam 

Mrs.  R.  W.  Kirkham 


Honorary  Vice- Presidents     ...       }  ~. 

I  Mrs.  J.   L.  N.  Shepard 

President Mrs.  E.  C.  Williams 

ist  Vice-President Mrs.  J.  E.  McElrath 

2nd  Vice-President Mrs.  James  Spiers 

Treasurer Miss  A.  E.  Miner 

Recording  Secretary    ......       Mrs.  Frank  L.  Brown 

Corresponding  Secretary       .......    Miss  Campbell 

DIRECTORS 

Mrs.  R.  G.  Brown  Mrs.  Frank  L.  Brown 

Mrs.  Charles  T.  Blake  Miss  Campbell 

Mrs.  L.  E.  Dam  Mrs.  J.  E.  McElrath 

Mrs.  W.  D.  Gelette  Mrs.  A.  Lilliencrantz 

Mrs.  E.  G.  Mathews  Mrs.  Jefferson  Maury 

Miss  A.  E.  Miner  Mrs.  George  P.  Morrow 

Mrs.  E.  C.  Williams  Mrs.  H.  F.  Gordon 

BOARD  OF  MANAGERS 

Mrs.  Spencer  Brown  Mrs.  Williard  T.  Barton 

Mrs.  Davenport  Miss  Dunham 

Mrs.  George  C.  Edwards  Miss  Louise  de  Fremery 

Mrs.  H.  P.  Gregory  Mrs.  J.  N.  Knowles 

Mrs.  W.  H.  Taylor  Mrs.  James  Treadwell 

Mrs.  R.  A.  Wellman  Mrs.  F.  N.  Wilson 

Mrs.  J.  T.  Wright  Miss  Janet  Watt 
Miss  Whitney 

Physician Dr.  R.  Harmon 

Legal  Adviser    ........        D.  Y.  Campbell,  Esq. 

BUSINESS  ADVISERS 

Mr.  J.  Iy.  Aequa  Hon.  Geo.  C.  Perkins 

Col.  G.  C.  Edwards  Mr.  J.  L.  N.  Shepard 

Mr.  T.  L,.  Barker  Mr.  James  de  Fremery 


To  A\otber. 


The  following  poem  is  of  interest,  not  only  for  its  real  worth,  but 
because  it  was  written  by  a  blind  girl,  at  the  State  Institution: 

The  rose  tints  from  thy  cheek,  Mother, 

Are  fading  one  by  one; 
And  the  four  score  years  are  telling 

That  thy  work  is  nearly  done. 
Age's  plow,  with  heavy  action, 

Wears  deep  furrows  in  thy  brow, 
But  thy  smile  was  never  sweeter, 

In  fair  youth,  than  it  is  now. 
Grey  hair  better  suits  thy  stature 

Than  those  tossing  curls  of  gold; 
It  gives  dignity  and  softness 

To  the  face's  oval  mould. 
If  thy   step   is   somewhat   feebler, 

We  are  pillars  stout  and  strong; 
Our  young  shoulders  have  been  growing 

For  your  hands  to  rest  upon. 
We  may  ne'er  repay  thee,   Mother, 

Your  whole  life  to  us  you  gave, 
And   beat   back,   with   hands   so   patient, 

Cruel  sorrow's  surging  wave; 
Now,  the  burden  is  thy  children's; 

It  is  time  for  thee  to  rest; 
The  seed  sown  was  loving  kindness, 

And  the  harvest  hath  been  blest. 
God   hath   written    in   thy   features, 

Where  the  angels  all  may  see, 
"She's   a   wife  and  she's  a   mother, 

Peace  be  her's  eternally." 

— M.  Oxton. 


io8 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE.  io9 


A  Corner  in  a  Chinese  Restaurant,  San  rrancisco. 


THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


I 
§ 


I 


THE  M ATI  PCS  A  MAGAZINE. 


in 


On  me  Pierced  River,  Col. 


ii2  THE  MARIPOSA  MAGAZINE. 


T\  HEAD,  from  a  painting  bv  Balthasar  Denner  in  the  Dresden  Gallerv. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


I 


HOME  OFFICE  : 

318  CALIFORNIA  STREET. 
SAN  FRANCISCO, 
CAI-  - 


ONE  OF  THE  MOST 
RELIABLE  INSURANCE 
COMPANIES  IN  THE  WORLD. 


MARINE 
INSURANCE. 


HOMK  OFFICE:    401    CALIFORNIA  STREET,  SAN   FRANCISCO. 


Davie  &  Williams 


(Formerly  with  and  successors 
toJ.C.  Wilson  &  Co.) 


353  Thirteenth    Street,  Oakland 

DEALERS  IN 

Coal,  Coke,  Pig  Iron,  Hay, 
Grain  and  Feed 

YARDS 

Fifth  and  Webster  Streets 
Thirteenth  and  Webster  Streets 

WAREHOUSE 

Fifth  and  Webster  Streets 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 

Qarrett  &  Taggart 


OAKLAND, 

Telephone  Main  54 


If  you  will  look  in 
at  . 


THIRTEENTH  &  BROADWAY 


You  will  agree  with  us  that 
there  is  a 

MODEL  nUSIC  HOUSE 
IN  OAKLAND 

You  can  get  what  you  want, 
if  its  music  you  want,  by 
calling  there. 


Established  1877 

AGARD  &  CO. 

GROCERS 

475,  477,  479  FOURTEENTH  STREET 
OAKLAND 

Telephone  Main  24  Opp.  City  Hall  Plaza 


Flour 
Feed  and 
Meal 


J.  C.  WESTPHAL  &  SONS 

Bay  City  Flouring  Mills 


CENTRAL   PHARMACY 

DRUGGISTS 

1 20 1  Broadway,  Junction  San  Pablo  Ave 

and  1 4th  Street 
Telephone  No.  253  •        Oakland,  Cal. 


Cor.  First  and  Clay  St.,  Oakland,  Cal. 


Al.     WOOD  TELCPHONE  281  C.  N.    WOOD 

AL  WOOD  &  BRO. 

Painters  and  Decoratois. 

Paints,    Oils,    Glass,    Varnishes,   Wall, 
Paper  and  Window  Shades, 

966  I  BROADWAY, 

OAKLAND,  Gal. 


Hook  Bros.  &  Co. 

Successors  to  E.  HOOK 

AND 


414=418  llth 

— and — 
4i5  =  i94  12th  Streets 

OAKLAND,  G\L. 

Storage  Rooms.  Telephone  Main  16 


JAS.    M.    TORREY 


J.  T.  GARDINER 


TORREY  &  GARDINER 

QROCERS 

Agents  for 

BARTLETT  SPRINGS 
MINERAL  WATER 

461  &  463  Eleventh  St.  near  Broadway 
Telephone  Main  116  Oakland,  Cal. 


Ozonate  Lithia  Water 

THE  FINEST  TABLE 
WATER  #  J*  J*  £  £ 


BOWMAN  &.  CO. 
Hgents 


and  Broadway 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


III 


Cooking. . 
School 


Teacher  questioning. 
Pupils  answering  in  unison. 

Q.    What  is  the  cheapest  fuel  ? 
A.    Gas. 

Q.    Why  is  Gas  the  cheapest  fuel? 

A.  Because  at  $1.60  per  thousand 
gas  is  cheaper  than  coal  at 
$8.00  per  ton. 

Q.  What  other  recommendation 
has  Gas  over  coal  ? 

A.  Cleanliness, readiness;  no  soot; 
no  smoke ;  no  ashes ;  fire 
ready  in  a  moment. 

Q.  What  recommendation  has  Gas 
over  Gasoline  ? 

A.  Safety  ;  no  explosions  ;  no  of- 
fensive odors. 

Q.  Where  are  Gas  Stoves  obtain- 
able? 

A.    From  the  Gas  Company. 

Q.    What  is  the  cost  ? 

A.  $12.00  placed.  No  after  cost 
for  repairs. 


P.  W.  Edwards 

JEWELRY 

963    BROADWAY 

OAKLAND 

CAL 


Telephone  576  Established  1852 

P.  O.  Box  331 


Wholesale  and  Retail 
Dealer  in 

...Plants,  Trees,  Seeds  and  Bulbs... 

Seed  Store  and  Plant  Yard 
617   FOURTEENTH  ST. 

NEAR    WASHINGTON 

............  OAKLAND,   CAL, 


J.  SEULBERGER 

..FOR1ST.. 

509-  511-513    Seventh  Street 

Fashionable  Long  Stemmed  Cut 
Flowers  a  Specialty 


Grand  Central 
Market 

J  red.  Becker,  Prop. 

90H16  Washington  St. 

Telephone  JOO 

Branch,  n.  6*  Cor.  eleventh  and  Wash- 
ington Streets.  Cel.tti 

Oakland,  Cal. 

CHOICEMEATS 

flt  Lowest  market  Prices 

HAMS,     BACON,    LARD, 

SAUSAGES, 

ETC. 


IV 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


Byron  Rot 
Springs « 


The  only  health  resort  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  where  the 
mineral  waters  and  the  mud 
baths  effectively  cure  ma- 
laria, rheumatism  and  skin 
diseases. 


This  lovely  spot  offers  picturesque  scenery 
near  at  hand  and  rest  and  health. 


MANUFACTURING  CONFECTIONER 

1159   Broad^vay  Oakland,  Cal. 


TRY... 


O.G.Java 

Mocha 

Mocha  and  Java 
Hawaiian 


Golden  Gate 

HIGH  GRADE 

ROASTE_D  Coffees 

Packed  only  in  2=lb.  Tins 

J.JA.FOLGER&CO. 

MANUFACTURERS 

San  Francisco 


Oakland   Store 

1075  Clay  bet.  llth  and  12th 

Telephone  Main  I 

Oakland 

A    BUSY   PLACE 

Here  are  push,  energy,  vim, 
promptness  and  good  service. 

Here  are  good  goods. 

Here  are  nutritious  foods,  fresh 
and  palatable. 

Here  are  the  close  prices  a  big 
business  only  can  command. 

Here  are  novelties  for  enter- 
tainment and  dinner  giving. 

Here  are  the  accounts  of  folks 
who  know  the  best  quality 
from  inferior. 

Our  Special  Saving  Sales  advertised  every  Mon- 
day in  the  Oakland  Enquirer,  and  Tribune,  the 
Alameda  Argus  and  the  San  Francisco  ca//, 
Chronicle  and  Examiner  are  interesting  reading 
to  housekeepers. 

GOLDBERG,  BOWEN  &  CO. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


V 


TBF  REALTY  SYNDICATE. 

Capital  Paid  In $1,611,450.00 

Surplus 288,322  40 

Assets  March  31,   1898 $3,485,834.91 

Authorized  Capital $5,000,000.00 

Principal  Offices,  14  Sansome 
St.,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

OFFICERS. 
F.  C.  HAVENS,  Manager. 

J.  M.  CHASE,  Ass't  Manager. 
F.  M.  SMITH,   President, 
D.  D.  HARRIS,    Second   Vice-President. 
J.  C.  WINANS,  Secretary. 

F.  M.  NACE,  Auditor. 
WELLS,  FARGO  &  GO'S  BANK,  Treas. 

THE  REALTY  SYNDICATE  is  a  cor- 
poration organized  under  the  laws  of 
California,  authorized  to  buy,  improve, 
and  sell  Real  Estate. 

It  issues  six  per  cent.  Preferred  Share 
Investment  Certificates  for  any  amount 
from  $100  to  $10,000,  payable  in  one  sum 
or  in  instalments,  and  divides  profits 
among  capital  stock  and  preferred  share 
certificate  holders. 

It  owns  the  electric  railway  system  of 
Oakland,  Alameda  and  Berkeley ;  and 
also  the  best  unimproved  realty  in  the 
City  of  Oakland. 

The  real  estate  owned  by  the  syndicate 
lies  in  Oakland,  and  in  the  direct  line  of 
growth  of  San  Francisco. 

The  syndicate  represents  a  combination 
of  interests  capable  of  realizing  profits  far 
in  excess  of  those  possible  to  individual 
owners. 

Address  the  office  for  information. 


BERKELEY  REAL  ESTATE 

O.  Q.  MAY  &  CO. 

2123  CENTRE  St..        BERKELEY,  Cal. 
THE 

BASS=HUETER  PAINT  CO 

DEALERS    IN 

PAINTS, 

OILS,  GLASS, 
ARTISTS'  MATERIALS 

— AND — 

HUETER'S  FINE  VARNISHES 


Reduc  ions    in  Artist  Materials 
ELUS  ST 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


20-22 


-ALASKA1- 


FOR  THE-»— 


Yukon  -  -  - 


Gold  Fields 

THE  ALASKA 
COMMERCIAL 
COMPANY 

The  oldest  and  Most  Reliable  Traders  in  the 
Territory  of  Alaska  will  despatch  during  the 
coming  season,  commencing  on  or  about 
June  loth,  1898,  the  following  steamers  from 
San  Francisco  : 

ST.  PAUL— New— 2500  tons 
PORTLAND— 1500  tons 
BERTHA— 900  tons 
DORA— 350  tons 

These  First-Class  Vessels  will  connect  at  St. 
Michaels  with  the  Company's  fleet  of  River 
Steamers  for  Dawson  City  and  all  points  on 
the  Yukon. 

For  Passage  Apply 

ALASKA  COMMERCIAL  CO. 

310  SANSOME  ST.,  S.  F. 


Choice     Library      of     Thirty 
Volumes  for  Children  of 
all  Ages,    from  9  to 
J8  Years: 


Fables 

2.  Grimm's  Tales 

3.  Am.  Hist,  stories  vol. 

4.  Am.  Hist.  vol. 

5.  Am.  Hist.      "    vol. 

6.  Am.  Hist.       "    vol. 

7.  Stories  of  Columbus 

8.  Stories  of  Indust'y  vol 

9.  Stories  of 

10.  Ethics;  Sto.  forborne 

and  school 

11.  Little  Flow'r  Folks  vol  i 
i  .  Little  Flower    " 

13.  The  Great  West 

14.  Cortes  and  Montezuma 
is.  Pizarro,  Conquest  Peru 

16.  Stories  of  Massach 'setts 

17.  Geography  for  S  oung 

Folks 

18.  Storyland  of  Stars 
19    Stories  fr'm  Animal 

land 

20.  Our  Fatherland — cloth 

21.  Stories  of  Australasia 

22.  Stories  of  India 

23.  Stories  of  China 

24.  Sto.  of  North 'n  Eur 

25.  Nature's  Stories  vol 

26.  Nature's  Stories  vol  ii 

27.  Patriotism 

28.  Choice  Selec.  Northend 

29.  Stories   from    Shakes- 

peare vol  i 

30.  Stories    from  Shakes- 

peare vol  ii 


Illus.  Bds.  DO. 

Bds. 

Clo. 

127 

$030 

$0.40 

" 

144 

.40 

•50 

i  " 

198 

•36 

•50 

ii  ' 

i3 

•36 

•50 

in  ' 

150 

•36 

•50 

IV    ' 

174 

•36 

.50 

t 

180 

.40 

60 

yli  ' 

172 

.40 

,60 

In  " 

* 

116 

.40 

.60 

197 

.40 

.60 

Oil" 

138 

•30 

.40 

Lii" 

130 

•3° 

.40 

11 

176 

•3° 

•5° 

na  " 

100 

•30 

•50 

eru  " 

128 

•3° 

5° 

;tts  " 

358 

•50 

•75 

ig 

136 

•3° 

.40 

" 

165 

•4° 

•50 

.« 

1-6 

•50 

•75 

>th  " 

160 

•5° 

.50 

a      " 

220 

.40 

.60 

<« 

200 

.40 

.60 

< 

194 

.60 

>pe 

190 

•40 

.60 

216 

.40 

.60 

ii    ' 

240 

.40 

.60 

264 

.40 

.60 

•nd" 

144 

•5° 

.60 

166      .50      .50 
156      .50      .50 


Sent  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  Price. 

EDUCATIONAL 

PUBLISHING  CO. 


809  Market  St. 


San  Francisco. 


VI 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


W.  H.  CHICKERING 
WILLIAM  THOMAS 
WARREN  GREGORY 
MARCOS  L.  GERSOTE 
MARCOS  C.  SLOSS 


Chickering,    Thomas   &   Gregory 

ATTORNEYS  AT  LAW 

222  SANSOME  STREET 

San  FVaneiseo 


ESTABLISHED   1858 


INCORPORATED    1897 


W.  K.  VANDERSLICE  Co. 
Gold  and  Silversmiths 

SAN    FRANCISCO 


Telephone  Main  917 


136  Sutler  St 


Charles    R.  Allei 


Coal 


144  Steuart  St., 

San  Francist 

Telephone  Main  1845 

458  Eighth  St., 

Oaklat 

Telephone  Main  68 

"Southfield  Wellington" 
^Bryant"  "Peacocl 

(Rock  Sprin 
And  All  Other  Kinds. 


The  greatest  singer  on  earth  is  ADELINA  PATTI. 

The  greatest  boxer  on  earth  is  ROBERT  FITZSIMMONS. 

The  greatest  pianist  on  earth  is  PADEREWSKI. 

The  greatest  jockey  on  earth  is  TOD  SLOAN. 

The  greatest  natural  mineral  water  on  earth  is 

JACKSON'S  NAPA  SODA 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS  VII 


For  a  "five  o'clock  tea" 
choose  your  brand  of  tea 
as  carefully  as  you  choose 
your  guests. 

Schilling's  Best  tea  is 
fresh-roasted  by  machin- 
ery in  San  Francisco — it 
is  clean  and  dainty  tea. 
Five  flavors: 
Blend,    Oolong, 
Ceylon,  Japan, 
English  Breakfast. 
At     grocers.       Money 
back  if  you  don't  like  it. 


Taft  &  Pennoyer 

(INCORPORATED) 

IPORTBR8   OF    QRY     GOODS 

AGENTS  FOR...! 

Butterick's  Patterns  and  Butterick's 
Publications 

Dents  and  Centemeri  Kid  Gloves 
gphonc  main  243  Hawkes  Bros.  Crystal  Cut  Glass 

A.  E.  Stiller  &  Sohn's  German  Linens 
Dr.  Jaeger's  Sanitary  Underwear 

1 1 63-6 £-67  Broadway 

467  and  469  Fourteenth  Street 

OAKLAND,  CAL. 


VIII 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


CHICAGO  CLOCK  COMPANY 

Goods  Sold  on  Easy  Payments 

LOW    PRICES     ' 

418   Fourteenth  St.,   Opp.   Macdonough  Theatra 
OAKLAND, 


C.  L.  Maxwell  &  Sons 

Importers  and  Dealers  in 

Builders'     Hardware 

and  Fine  Cutlery 
Mechanics'  Tools  a  Specialty 

Stoves  and  Tinware 

1164-1166  Washington  and  481  Fourteenth  Sts. 
Telephone  149  Oakland,  Cal. 


H.   D.  GUSHING 

Q  R  OC  E  R 

Washington    and    Fourteenth     Sts 

Tel.  Main  113 


The  Schreiber  Furniture  Co. 

CHRISTIAN  SCHREIBER,  PROP. 
Carpetings 
Ivinolems,  Oil  Cloths 
Lace  Curtains 
Windows  Shades 
Furniture  and  Bedding 
Artistic  i  arlor  Furniture 
Fine  Drapery  and  Upholstery 
Enameled  and  Iron  Beds  a  Specialty 

Houses  Furnished  Complete 
N.  W.  COR.  isth  AND  FRANKLIN  STREETS, 

Opp.  Narrow  Gauge  Depot 
Telephone  Main  72  OAKLAND,  CAL. 


TELEPHONE  369 


Car  ruth  &  Car  ruth 


520   f   Fifteenth  Street. 
OAKLAND,  CaL 


ABRAHAMSON   BROS 

The  Leading 
DRY    GOODS     HOUSE 

Direct  Importers  of 
Dress  Goods,  Silks, 

Curtains,    Linens, 
Staples,  Cloaks,  Hosiery, 

Underwear,  Fancy  Goods 

S.  E.  Cor.  i3th   &   Washington    Streets 
OAKLAND 


THE 

Jonas  Clothing  Co. 

Regulators  of  Prices  and  Style  in 

Men's  and  Youths' 
Tailor-made 

Clothing 

Furnishing  Goods,  Hats,  Etc. 

Exclusive  Styles  in 
Children's    Wearing    Apparel,     Bicycle, 

Golf  and  Athletic  Goods 
1063-1065  Broadway  Oakland 


Hat  WoUiai  &  Co. 

Importers  of 

Fine  French  China 
and  Art  Goods 

Call  particular  attention  to  their 

New  Crystal  Room, 
the  finest  in  the 
United  States 

122-132  Sutler  Street 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


ROOS  BROS 

Leading 

Clothiers 

27-29-31   KEARNY     STREET 
San  Francisco,  Cal. 


The  Wonder 

Has  added  this  season   an  extensive 

TRIMMED  HAT  DEPARTMENT 
and  you  will  find  Beauties  at  very 

reasonable  prices 

You  will  have  no  difficulty  in  suit- 
ing your  style  and  purse 

1026  Market  St.         San  Francisco 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


IX 


Calumet    means    Peace  I 

Calumet 

Baking 

Powder 

Settles    All   Baking     Powder   Controversies. 

Highest  Leavening  Power 
Purest 

Moderate  Price 

We  guarantee  it  will  prove  the  best  you've 
ever  used. 

WELLMAN,    PECK  &  CO. 


J.    T. 

LEADING 

CLOTHIER 

AND 

MERCHANT   TAILOR, 

1017-1019  Broadway, 
OAKLAND,     .....     CAL. 


If  you  relish 

Oysters,  Tamales.  Cup  of  Delicious 
Chocolate,  Coffee  or  Tea 

while  down  town  shopping,  you  will  find 
them  neatly  served  at  the 

LOG  CABIN  BAKERY 

LUNCH  AND  GRILL 

1161  Broadway,  Oakland 


RO  ^KJVr 

INCORPORATED 

Importers    of    FHne 

107-111  Heam  v  St.,  near  Post 

The  leading  and  most  i  eliableShoe  House  «.n  the 
Pacific  Coast.  Abs  .lute  satisfaction  guaran- 
teed or  money  refunded  in  all  cases.  We  so- 
licit your  valued  patronage. 

Rosentbars,  Incorporated,  107-111  Hearny  St.,  near  Po$t 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 
We  have  no  branch  stores. 


Piedmont  •.*  Baths 

24th  Street,  near  Broadway 
Hammam  Baths, 

Gentlemen's  (open  day  and  nightj. 
Indies'  (open  from  9  A.  M.  to  6  P.  M.  week- 
days, and  from  9  A.  M.  to  i  P.  M.  Sundays). 

Turkish,  Russian,  Roman,  Electric,  Alcohol. 
Sulphur,  Mercurial,  Bay  Rum,  and  all  Medi- 
cated Baths. 

Positively  the  best  equipped  Turkish 
Baths  West  of  Chicago. 

Tub   Baths,  Hot  and  Cold,  Salt    and  Fresh. 

Porcelain  Tubs. 
Swimming     Natatorium.     Tank       70x120    feet. 

Filtered  warm  salt  water. 

Piedmont  Cars  pass  the  door. 
East  Oakland  and  Alameda  cars  transfer 
to  Piedmont  Cars. 


PimXRZNT&CO 

GROCERS 

Cor.  Columbus  and  Telegraph  Ave., 

Butter  and  Etfgs  Canned  Fruits  and  Vegetables 

Fancy  Groceries  and  Pickle  » 


Flour  an-3  Meals 
Teas  and  Coffees 
Produce  and  Fruits 


Swiss  and  California  Cheese 
Macaroni,  Etc. 


NORTH  TEMESCAL, 


-    CAL. 


E.  H.  KITTREDGE  &  CO. 

MANUFACTURERS 
WHOLESALE  AND  RETAIL  DEALERS  IN 

DOORS 

WINDOWS 

AND   BLINDS 
113  and  115   Market  St. 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


OAKLAND 


White  Star  Laundry  Co. 

OAKLAND,  CAL. 


GENTLEMEN'S  FINE  WORK   A  SPECIALTY 


Works  and  Main   office  Branch  Office. 

1471   BROADWAY.  966  WASHINGTON  ST. 


B.  &  J.  S.  DOE 

Manufacturers  of  and  Dealers  in 

DOORS 

WINDOWS 

AND  BLINDS 

Wholesale  and  Retail 

44  &  46  Market  St.,  San  Francisco 


X 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


San  Francisco  Savings  Union 

53?  CALIFORNIA  STREKT 

Deposits,  Jan.  I,  1898,      -  -    $22,733,119 
Paid  Up  Capital  and  Surplus  -        1,654,917 

E.  B.  POND,         W.  C.  B.  DE  FREMERY, 

Pres.  Vice  Pres. 

LovELL  WHITE,  Cashier. 

DIRECTORS. 
GEO.  W.  BEAVER.         ROBT.  WATT 

W.  A  McAGEE 

GEORGE  C.  BOARDMAN 
W.C.B.  DE  FREMERY 

DANIEL  E.  MARTIN 

ALBERT  MILLER  GEO.  TASHEIRA 

E.  B.  POND. 


Loans  upon  San  Francisco  and  Oak- 
land Real  Estate,  and  Farms  and  Farm- 
ing Lands  in  the  Country. 

Receives  Deposits.  Country  remit- 
tances may  be  made  in  checks  payable  in 
San  Francisco,  Post  Office  or  Wells, 
Fargo  &  Go's  Money  Orders,  or  coin  by 
Express,  but  the  responsibility  of  this 
bank  commences  only  with  the  receipt 
of  the  money. 

No  charge  is  made  for  pass-book  or 
entrance  fee. 

OFFICE  HOURS  :  9  a.  m.  to  3  p.  m.,  and 
Saturday  evenings,  for  receipt  of  deposits 
only,  6:30  to  8  o'clock. 


W.  T.  VEITCH  &  BRO. 

Contractors  \  Builders 

ESTIMATES  FURNISHED 

Hard  WOOD  WORK       It 
Ik          A  SPECIALTY. 


OFFICE  AND  SHOP 


1164=1166    Webster    St. 

NEAR   FOURTEENTH    STREET. 

Telephone  No.  233.  OAKLAND,  Cal. 


The  First  National  Bank 

OF  OAKLAND 
Northeast  Cor.  Tenth  nnd  Broadway 


CAPITAL    STOCK  PAID  UP,     -   -   -    $300,000 

P.  E.  BOWLES President 

G.  W.    McNEAR.... Vice- President 

L.   G.  BURPEE  ....  Cashier 


DIRECTORS. 


G.  W-  McNear, 
E.  W.  Runyon, 
P.  E.  Bowles, 
W.  H.  Chickering, 


Wallace  Everson, 
L.  C.  Morehouse, 
W.  P.  Jones. 
L  G.  Burpee. 


PRINCIPAL  CORRESPONDENTS 

San  Francisco  —  First  National  Bank,  London, 
Paris  and  American  Bank,  L'd,  and  Bank  of 
California. 

New  York— National  Park  Bank. 

Chicago — Am.  Exchange  National  Bank. 


Dodge  Book  &  Stationery  Co 

flrt  Publishers 

Pressed 

Wild  Flowers 
of   California 


112  Post  Street, 


San  Francisco 


With  Compliments  of 

I.  Magnin  &  Co. 

Manufacturers  and 
Importers  of 

High  Grade  Ladies'  and  Infants'  Trousseaux, 

Silk  Waists,  Silk  Skirts,  Tea  Gowns, 

£         Matinees,     Etc.         J* 


Not  cheap  but  reasonable  prices  for  best  work- 
manship and  material. 


840  Market  St. 


San  Francisco 


J.  D.  FRY,  President. 

R.  D.  FRY,  Vice-President. 


J.  DALZELL  BROWN  and  Vice-President  and  Manager. 
E.  E.  SHOTWELL,  Secretary. 

CALIFORNIA 

SAFE  DEPOSIT  and 

TRUST  CO. 

Corner  of  California  and  Montgomery  Sts. , 
San  Francisco,  Cal. 

Valuables  of  Every  Description  Stored 
in  our  Fire  and  Burglar  Proof  Vaults  for 
any  length  of  time  at  reasonable  rates. 
By  the  year  at  i  per  cent  on  valuation. 

Beautifully  Appointed  Reception  Rooms 
and  Offices  at  the  hree  Disposal  of  our 
Patrons. 

Safe    Deposit  Boxes. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


XI 


Home   Mutual  Insurance   Company 

of  California 

MAIN  OFFICE,  318  CALIFORNIA  ST.,  SAN  FRANCISCO 


Organized  in  1864 


Losses  Paid  $9,332,658 


A  Guarantee  to  our  Policy   Holders  that  we  are    POPULAR,    pay 
our  losses  PROflPTLY,  and  make  HONEST  Settlements. 


WM.  J.  DiHXON,  President 
F.  W.  LouGEE,  Vice  President 


Oakland  Office : 

1006  Broadway 


STEPHEN  D.  IVES,  Secretary 
FRANKUN  BANGS,  Ass't  Sec'y 


W.  F.  GORDON,  Agent 


There  may    be   other  ^ 

good  Investments  I  !  ! 

©None  so  good  as 
those  offered  by 

THE  EQUITABLE  LIFE  ASSUR- 
ANCE   SOCIETY 

Of  the  United  States. 

Five  Per  Cent  Gold  Bonds 

Life  Insurance 

Four  Per  Cent  Endowment  Bonds 

Endowments 


Protect  your  Family  ! 

Protect  your  Business  ! 
Purchase  a  Guaranteed  Income 

AH    Contracts  Guaranteed  by  $236,876- 
308  Assets. 

Write  for  full  particulars  to 

A.  M.  SHIELDS,  Manager 

The  Kquttable  Life  Assurance  Society  of  the  U.  S. 
Crocker  Building  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


TELEPHONE   MAIN   5322. 


George  Goodman 

Patentee  and  Manufacturer  of 

@      Artificial 
Stone 

In  all  its   Branches 

Schillinger's  Patent 

Side  Walk 

Garden  Walk 

A     Specialty 


Office:  307  Montgomery  St. 


San  Francisco 


Sierra  Prepared  Bark..... 

A  simple,  safe  and  positive  remedy  for 
Rheumatism,  Neuralgia,  Gout,  etc.  Price 
$1.50  per  box.  The  Sierra  Prepared 
Bark  Co.  P.  O.  Box  522,  Oakland,  Cal. 


XII 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


Wm.  J.  Landers,  Resident  Manager 

THE  IMPERIAL 
Insurance  Company  L'td 

OF  LONDON 

Established  on  Pacific  Coast  in  1852 

Pacific  Coast  Branch 
205-207  Sansome  St. 

San  Francisco,  Gal. 

H.  I.  COON,  Resident  Agent, 
Berkeley,  Cal. 


The  Lion 
Fire  Insurance  Co. 


OF  LONDON 


Total  Cash  Assets  in  U.  S.,    .   $926,105  75 

Wm.  J.  Landers 

RESIDENT    MANAGER 

205  and  207  Sansome  Street 

San  Francisco,  Cal. 


Pacific  Department 

Milwaukee  mechanics' 
Insurance  Co. 

Cash  Assets $2,500,000 

Losses  Paid 6,575,000 

L  L  Bronwcll 

MANAGER 

4JO  CALIFORNIA  STREET 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


PAYS  INTEREST  ON  DEPOSIT 


SAFE    DEPOSIT   BOXES 
—TO  RENT— 


Founded  A.  D.  1710 

Sun  Insurance  Office 

OF  LONDON 

Unlimited  Liability  of  Shareholders 

Capital $12,000,000 

Cash  Assets 11,009,450 

Liabilities 2,518,295 

Cash  Surplus  beyond  all   lia- 
bilities      8,491,155 


this  is  the  oldest  and  wealthiest  purely  Tire 

Insurance  Co.  in  the  UPorld 


Orient  Insurance  Co. 

OF  HARTFORD,  CONN. 

Capital $    500,000 

Gross  Assets 2,346,664 

Net  Surplus 735,278 


W.  J.  Callingham,  Leslie  A.  Wright, 

General  Agent,  Asst.  General  Agt. 

420  California   Street,  San  Francisco,  Cat. 


The  largest  Insurance  Company 
in  the  world 

The  Mutual  Life 

INSURANCE  COMPANY 
OF  NEW  YORK 

Richard  A.  McCurdy,  Pres'd 

Assets,  Dec.  31,  1897 $253,786,437  66 


Liabilities $218, 

Surplus $  35, 


278,243  07 
508,194  59 


Income  in  1897 $  54,162,608  23 

Increase  of  income  in  1897       4,459,912  96 
Increase  of  surplus 5i774>679  89 

AND 

Decrease  of  Expenses 146,178  31 

Paid  to  Policyholders  since 

organization $462, 997, 250  7 1 

The  best  Company  is  the  Co- 

pany  that  does  the 

most  good 

A.  B.  FORBES  &  SON 
Mutual  Life  BIdg.,  222  Sansome  St. 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


XIII 


Lake  Tahoe   Opens 
June  ist 


Address 


Mrs.  J.  S.  Libby 
Room  i,  Flood  Building 


Entertoinrotnl  for 


HIGHLAND 


SPRINGS 


On  the  Border  of  Clear  Lake,  Lake  County,  Cal., 
J.  Craig,  Manager 

*Uhe  Sreat   Sanitarium 


of   the 


NEW  AND  COMMODIOUS  HOTEL  JUST  COMPLETED 
AND  ELEGANTLY  FURNISHED  —  LIGHTED  BY 
ELECTRICITY—  LARGEST  DINING  ROOM  NORTH 
OF  SAN  FRANCISCO.  (Will  seat  500  people.) 

Thousands  Cured    by   ihe  Wa- 
te-'S  at  Highland  Springs 

Resident  Physician  in  attendance;  Superb  Cli- 
mate; Beautiful  Mountain  Scenery;  Fine  Trout 
Streams;  Deer  and  Small  Game  Plentiful;  Mag- 
nificent Drives  through  the  Mountains  and 
around  the  Lake;  Unrivalled  Mineral  Waters; 
Baths  in  variety. 

Over  30   Kinds  of  Mineral  Springs 

Where   on  earth  ca.i  you  find   so  many 
valuable   springs     in    a   similar  area? 

Table  Unsurpassed  Anywhere 

Reached  by  the  SHORTEST  STAGE-ROUTE    INTO 

LAKE  COUNTY-  one  of  the  most  romantic  and 

beautiful  stage  roads    on  the  Coast. 

Round  Trip  Fare  from  San  Francisco:  — 
Via  Hopland,  $8;  via  Calistoga,  $9. 

HOTFT     RATF^-  *r  -so  to  *2-5°  Per  day>  °r 

nUlHL      rvAlbb.  $IO  oo  to  $16.00  per  week. 
Take  S.  P.  &  N.  P.  Railway  to  Hopland,  or  S.  P.  R.  R. 

to  Calistoga.      Thence  by  a  short,  delightful 

stage  ride  to  HIGHLAND. 

Open    Every    Day  in  the 
Year. 

For  further  information  address: 

Highland  Springs,  L/ake  Co.,  Cal. 
Or  see,  in  "San  Francisco, 

L.  D.  Craig,  316  Montgomery  St. 

Send  for  Illustrated  Pamphlet. 


BERKELEY   BAZAAR 

H.  R.  SORB.NSKN 

NEW  STORE,  OPPOSITE  BANK 


JOHN    TAYLOR    &    CO. 

Importers,  Manufacturers  & 
Dealers  in 

Assayers'   Materials, 

Mine  and  Mill  Supplies 


Chemical  Glassware, 

School   & 
Philosophical  Apparatus 


63  First  Street 


San  Francisco,  Cal. 


C.E.  Whitney  &  Co. 

Importers,  Packers  and  Commission 
Merchants  in 

DAIRY    PRODUCE,    PROVISIONS, 
SALT  AND 
CURED    FISH... 


SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


Max  Greenhood  &  Co. 

Spring    Novelties 


Berkeley  Station 


Just  Arrived 
Berkeley 


GRUENHAGEN'S 

20  KEARNY  Sx,  SAN  FRANCISCO 
LIST  OF  DRINKS  to  be  had  at  our  Fountain 
Polite    service,  strictly    pure    goods, 
cleanliness,  combine  to  make  THIS 
a  pleasant  place  to  drink  Soda  Water 
Special  orders  by  telephone  given  prompt  at- 
tention Telephone  Main  1065 


XI  V  AD  VER  TISEMENTS 

Tubbs  Cordage 


MANUFACTURERS     OF 

Of    Every     Description. 

WE  MAKE  A  SPECIALTY    OF 

Oil  Well  Drilling  Cables,  Towing  Lines,  Ships' 

Hawsers,  Transmission  of  Power  Rope, 

Tarred  Rope,  Bale  Rope,  Etc. 

607-613  Front  St.,  San  Francisco 

Factory  at  Potrero. 


Washburn  &  Moen  Mfg.  Co. 

Wire   Rope,  Tramways,  Ropeways,  Cableways. 

BARE  AND    INSULATED 

ELECTRICAL   WIRES 


TelegTaph.  and  Telephone  "Wire 
A  SPECIALTY. 

The  only  Wire  and  Wire  Rope  Factory  on   the  Pacific  Coast 

WORKS : 

Worcester,  Mass.,  Waukegan,  111.,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 
F.UMC1SCO   OFFICES  8  and  10   PINE  STREET. 

FRANK  L.  BROWN,  Pacific  Coast  Agent. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


XV 


co 


PRINTERS    ^    ENGRAVERS    j*    LITHOGRAPHERS 
BLANK  BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 


Established    1869. 
•     Incorporrted  1893. 

Telephone  Front  85. 

113-119  Davis  St.,  S.  F. 


HARTFORD  KIRE  INSURANCE  COMPANY. 

ORGANIZED  1T94. 


ASSETS $10,819,629 

POLICY-HOLDERS  SURPLUS 5,497,796 

STRONG  &  CO.,  Agents,  4VO  Ninth  Street,   Oakland,  Cat. 

NEW  YORPC  UNI3ER\VRITERS  AGENCY. 

ASSETS .' $iov8i9,629 

POLICY-HOLDERS   SURPLUS 5,499,796 

GEORGE  B.  M.   GRAY,  Agent,  454  Ninth  Street,   Oakland,   Cal. 

H.  K.  BELDEN,  Manager  Pacific  Department.  WHITNEY  PALACHE,  Aw't  Manager. 

313  California  Street,         -          -         -          -          -          -          San  Francisco. 

Special  Agents  and  Adjusters— J.  J.  Agard,    T.  J.  Conroy,    John  M.  Jlohm-M.    J.,l.  It,  tin  in. 


The  Traveler 

is  the 

MOST  SUPERBLY 
ILLUSTRATED  JOURNAL 
OF  THE  WEST 

Published      Monthly,     In- 
tensely Interesting  and 
Varied     in     Con- 
tents. 


FRANK  J.  SYMMES, 

President. 


VANDERLYNN  STOW, 
Secretary. 


Subscription    $1.00  a   year, 
copy  free. 

Address  : 


Sample 
Wm.  V.  Bryan,  Prop. 


Thomas  Day 
Company 

GAS  and 
ELECTRIC 

FIXTURES  AND 


The   only   Complete  Factory  on   the 
Coast 


Agents      United    States 


20 'Montgomery  Street 


San  Francisco 


NEW  LOCATION 

725  Mission  Street 
Near  3rd  St. 


Mail      Chute 
San  Francisco 


Max.   C.    Schulze 

Groceries 


Delicacies 
Dairy  Produce 
Lunch  Supplies 
Smoked  and  Spiced  Fish 


All  kinds  of 
SALADS 
Hands-mely 
Garnished 


Pates,    Roasts   or    Anything    Suitable    for    Cold 
Lunches  or  Evening  Entertainments. 

911  and  913  Washington   St., 

Telephone  No.  1100.  Oakland,  Cal. 


Maskey's 

(©)  3*fne    Candies 

Ice  Cream  Soda         -        -          Chocolate 

Phosphates 
Bouillon  Coffee 

BONBONS        GLACE  FRUITS 
Novelties  for  Dinner  Parties 

32  Kearney  St.,    San  Francisco 


DON'T  PAY     RENT, 

veiling,  store  your   furniture,  books,  pianos,   and 
pictures  with  "  J.  M.  Pierce, 


Orders    from    the     country 
and  careful  attention. 


receive    prompt 


TELEPHONE 
Black  311 


735  Market  St. 

San  Francisco 


A.  L.  LEBER 

Druggist,  Chemist,  and  Stationer. 

9  12-93-1  7th  STREET  COR.  MYRTLE 

TELEPHONE  BLACK  55  OAKLAND, 


XVI 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


Collins  Bros. 

T-===:.:=_Pharmacy 
i2th  and    Washington   Street 

Oakland 


Pure  Drugs  and 

Fine  Toilet  Articles 


The   Lowest 

Prices 


MAX  GREENHOOD 

DRY  QOODS 

Shattuck   Avenue,  opposite  Berkeley  Station 


LUCILE  &  CO.,f  inc  millinery 
Post  Street,  San  J ranclsco 


Schoenholz  Bros.  &  Co. 

Importers  of 

DRY     GOODS 

110-112  Sixth  St  1913  Fillmore  St- 


SMITH'S 

CASH       STORE 

27  Market  Street 
SAN   FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


KOHLER  &  CHASE 

1013  BROADWAY,  OAKLAND,  CAL. 

A  Fine  Assortment  of  High. 

Grade  Pianos 
AT  THE  HEAD  STANDS  KNABE 
Telephone  1009 


J.  A.  D.  Mutton,  D.  D.  S. 

-DENTIST.- 

Hulburt  Block,  Shattuck  and 
Way. 


BERKELEY  -  -  Cal. 


PALACE  HARDWARE  CO. 


E.  S.  GRAY,  Pres. 


F.  H.  ELLIS,   Vice  Pres 


O.  F.  SITS,  Sec. 

Fine  Builders'  and  Cabinet 

Hardware 
Tools  and  Cutlery 

603  MARKET  STREET 
Grand  Hotel  Block  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


THE  HAWLEY    DRUG  CO. 

Curt  Rate  Druggist 

2038  Shattuck   Avenue,   Cor.   Addison   Street 
BERKELEY,    CAT,. 


Mrs.  J.  Coughlan 

MILLINERY    AND     STRAW    GOODS 

919  Market  Street,  opposite  Mason 

Between  5th  and  6th  Streets 


Golden  Sheaf  Bakery 

Ornamental  Cakes. 
Ice  Cream  to  Order. 
2030  Shattuck  Avenue,  Berkeley,  Cal. 


\V.  Manning 

IMPORTER  OF  DIAMONDS 

AND  MANUFACTURING    JEWELER 
804  Market  St.,   Phelan  Building,   San  Francisco 


The  D.  SAMUELS 
LACE  HOUSE  CO, 


Sutter  St.  and  Grant  Avenue 


Little  Sisters'  Infant  Shelter 

A    Day   Home  for  the  children   of 
poor  working  mothers 

512  Minna  St.,  near  Sixth 

SAN    FRANCISCO 


ABKRKELY  WOMAN,    having    lived 
in  Europe  for  some  time,  is  to  return 
for  two   years  and  is  desirous  of  taking 
one  or  two  girls  for  the  purpose  of  study. 
References  exchanged. 

Address  Mrs.  W— 
2611  Durant  Avenue 

Berkeley,  Cal. 


COOPER  &  CO. 

ART  STATIONERS 

— AND — 

HERALDIC  ENGRAVERS 

746  Market  St.,  San  Francisco 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


XVII 


O1VK> 

Both  the  method  and  results  when 
Syrup  of  Figs  is  taken;  it  is  pleasant 
and  refreshing  to  the  taste,  and  acts 
gently  yet  promptly  on  the  Kidneys, 
Liver  and  Bowels,  cleanses  the  sys- 
tem effectually,  dispels  colds,  head- 
aches and  fevers  and  cures  habitual 
constipation.  Syrup  of  Figs  is  the 
only  remedy  of  its  kind  ever  pro- 
duced, pleasing  to  the  taste  and  ac- 
ceptable to  the  stomach,  prompt  in 
its  action  and  truly  beneficial  in  itP 
effects,  prepared  only  from  the  most 
healthy  and  agreeable  substances,  its 
many  excellent  qualities  commend  it 
to  all  and  have  made  it  the  most 
popular  remedy  known. 

Syrup  of  Figs  is  for  sale  in  50 
cent  bottles  by  all  leading  drug- 
gists. Any  reliable  druggist  who 
may  not  have  it  on  hand  will  pro- 
cure it  promptly  for  any  one  who 
wishes  to  try  it.  Do  not  accept  any 
substitute. 

CALIFORNIA  FIG  SYRUP  CO. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL 
LOUISVILLE,  KY.  HEW  YORK.  N.Y. 


Electric     Lighting     Co 

Office  Cor.  Stanford  and  Centre  Sts. 


PALACE 

AND  —  — Q 

GRAND 

<$an 


HOTELS 


NOW  UNDER 

ONE  HANAQEMENT 


j    Cat. 
UU 


1400  Roons 

900  WITH   BATH 

ROOMS  $1.00   and  Upwards 

ROOM  AND  MEALS 

$3.00    and  Upwards 


THE 

LADIES 

GRILL 

OF  THE 

PALACE 


Proves  its  popularity 
by  the  increase  of  its 
Local  and  Transient 

patronage ~". 

Excels  in  everything 
that  makes  the  Per- 
fect Restaurant . 


A   beautiful  Illustrated    Book,   containing    Floor 
Plans  and  Rate  Card  can  be  had  for  the  asking. 

JOHN  C.  KIRKPATRICK,  Manager 


E.  R.  TUTT 


Importer  and 
Dealer  in 


HARDWARE 


Stoves,  Ranges, 

Gas  Fixtures  and 

Household  Utensils 

Plumbing,    Gas  Fitting,    Tin- 
ning    Hot-Air    and     Hot- 
Water      Heating       A 
Specialty. 

467  Thirteenth  St.  OAKLAND.  CAL 

Between  Broadway  and  Washington  Streets 
Telephone  231  -  -  P.  O.  Box  462 


The  Company  has  recently  made  a  25  per  cent  re-  j         T*/~\T1T)  TTl  Tl    M  1 

duction  in  rates  for  Incandescent  lighting  for  :  I    (    iKK  I  INI  I*1  K 

residences  which  brines  the  tost  down   so  low  *#         A    V^J-/J.VXX  1J— <XV 


residences  which  brings  the  cost  down  so  low 
that  all  who  will  may  enjoy  it.  simply  because 
the  present  rates  are  very  little  in  excess  of 
the  cost  of  kerosene. 


f  JOHN  A.  BRITTON,  President, 

ANSON  S.  BLAKE,  Vice  President, 
Directors^  JOHN  T.  WRIGHT, 
I  A.  T.  EASTLAND, 
IJOSEPH  J.  MASON. 

W.  E    TOPHAM.  Secretary. 


Druggist  and 
Stationer 

Cor.  yth  and  Market  Sts. 


TELEPHONE    3O5. 


OAKLAND,  CAL. 


XVIII 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


HOTEL   DEL    MONTE 


MONTEREY,    Ca1. 


Ex- PRESIDENT    HARRISON    says   it  is  the   most   delightful   spot   he  evct 

visited. 
HON.  T.  B.  REED  said  of  it  "I  hardly  feel  competent  to  express  my  admira 

tion  for  this  charming  resort." 
CHAUNCEY    M.    DEPEW    declares  it   the  most  beautiful   spot  in  the  world. 

Monte  Carlo  cannot  compare  with  it. 
JOHN  W.  MACKAY  says  there  is  nothing  in    Europe  that  can  at  all  compare 

with  it. 
A.  McNALLY,    of  Rand,    McNally  &  Co.,   Chicago,   says  it  is  the  ne  plus 

ultra  of  all  things  in  its  line. 

Both  American  and  European  plans  maintained. 

GEO  E.  SCHONEWALD,  Manager 


Which  ? 


Mountains 

or 
Seaside 

If   you  haven't  arranged   your  summer  outing-   program 
yet  send  to  the 

Southern  Pacific;   Company 

or  any  of  its  agents  for  circulars,  folders,  and  other  information 
in  relation  to  the  various  places  of  resort  in  the  State,  showing 
their  locality,  how  to  reach  them,  describing  their  attractions, 
accomodations,  advantages,  etc.,  also  showing  the  special  rates 
made  for  the  benefit  of  the  outing  season. 

A   Most   Elaborate 

Summer    Outing  -  Caiupa  igii 

Embracing    Mountain  and  Seaside    Resorts  from.,;  .,  I;    '; 

&    *  ;j»    SHASTA  TO  CORONADO    j»'-ii    <* 
Write  or  apply  for  full  information  to  - 

T.  H.  Goodman, 

.,...-  .,.,         General  Passenger 
Or  any  Southern  Pacific  Company. 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


XIX 


This     View    is    one     of    the 
Many  on  the 

Adams 
Point 
Property 

The  model  residence  district 
No  improvements  allowed 
for  less  value  than  $3,000. 


in.->  roiiit  t'roperty. 


ISO  x  140-50  x 


Send  for  Maps  and  Particulars 

Lake  Shore  Land  Company 


1070  Broadway 


A.  H.  BREED,  Manager 

Oakland,    Cala. 


H.S.CROCKER  COMPANY 


VERYTH  NG 

IN  THE  LiNE  OF 

Stationery; 

Artistic  Printing, 
Lithographing, 
Bookbinding, 
Engraving, 

SATISFACTION  GUARANTEED  IN  EVERY  DEPARTMENT, 


215,  '21-7,   and  219  Bush  Street,, 

Telephone. >•  SAN   FRANCISCO,  CAL 

, 


XX 


AD  VER  TISEMENTS 


Union  Coursing  Park 

COURSING: 

Saturdays,  Sundays  and  Holidays 

The  Classic  Sport  of  America 

Largest   and    Most    Perfectly 
Appointed  Park  in  the 

United  States 
Fast  Greyhounds 

Big  Purses 

Thirty  or  more  courses  each  day 

Judge,  E.  J.  Bull, 

of  London,  Eng. 

Slipper,  R.  L.  Taylor, 

of  Denver,  Colo. 
Take    Southern    Pacific    Trains    at 
Third  and  Townsend 

SATURDAY  SUNDAY 

11:30  a.  m.  10:40  a.  m. 

12:55  p.  m.  11:30  a.  m. 

1:30  p.  m. 

Trains  leave  Valencia  street  5  minutes  later, 
take  San  Mateo  Electric  Cars. 


CLABROUGH, 
GOLCHER  &  CO. 

Invite  you  to  call  and  look  over 
their  very  complete  stock 

FISHING   TACLE 

CAMPING 

AND 

OUTING  GOODS 

— :  o  :  — 

TENNIS  © 

©  GOLK 

A  Complete  Stock 

SPORTING   GOODS 


538 


MARKET  ST 

HOBART   BUILDING 


Coffees 

Spices 

Extracts 


RACING!  RACING! 


California  Jockey  Club 


Winter   fleeting    i897-p8,  Beginning  HONDAY,  May 
2nd  to  16th,  at  OAKLAND  RACE  TRACK 

Racing    Monday,    Tuesday,     Wednesday,     Thursday, 
Friday  and  Saturday,  rain  or  shine 


Five  or  more  races  each  day... 
Races  start  at  2:  i  ?  p.  m.  sharp 


Ferry  boats  leave  San  Francisco  at  12  m.  and  12:30,  1:00,  1:30  and  2:00 
p.  m.,  connecting  with  trains  stopping  at  entrance  to  track  buy 
your  tickets  to  Berkeley. 

Returning  trains  leave  the  track  at  4:15  and  4:45  p.  m.,  and  im- 
mediately after  the  last  race. 

Thomas  H.. Williams  Jr.,  Pres. 
R.  B.  Milroy,  Secretary. 


The  Johnson=Locke  Mercantile  Co. 


SHIPPING  AND  COMMISSION  MERCHANTS. 

DEPflRTHENT. 


Steamshi     Offices; 


SA.N  -FRANC  IS  CO,-    Market  St.  ,-  under  Grand  Hotel, 


Next  to  Southern  Pacific  Offices 


SKATTLH     Mutual  Life  Insurance  Company  Building. 


OF 


Cbe Joseph  Caduc  Gold  mining  and  Development  €o. 

<)K     YI'KON. 

OPERATINGv* 

•*      f  The  Ladue-Dawson  Transportation  Co. 

The  Atlantic  &  Pacific  Company  of  New  Jersey 

A  "'-  The  Yukon  Transportation  and  Commercial  Co. 

of  San  Francisco 

The  California  Yukon  Trading  Co.  of  California 
The  Northern  Steamship  Company  of  California 
The  Cold  Star  Transportation  Company  of  Cat. 


S  A  N    V.  H .  \  X  (  1 1  J<<.  X  )    AND  SK'^'ITJL'E 

-*-  ^vr^r>— *- 

UAWSON  CITY  AND  POINTS  ON  THE  YUKON  VIA  ST.  MICHAELS. 


ILL  4B04RD! 


The  Klondike 


HEALTH, 

PLEASURE  and 

RECREATION 


Is,  along 
the  line 
of  the  . 


San  Francisco  and 
North    Pacific    R'y 


;IHf    PICTIRESQW   ROUTt.  OF   C \IIIOKNK 


It  you  \\ant  tu  ciAiup,  pitch  a  tent  near  a  lovely  lake,  or  on  the  bank  of 
some  beautiful  stream .  of  which  there  are  over  y-.o  well  stocked  with -trout. 

It  you  want  'to  drink  health-giving  waters  and  enjoy  social  lite, 
visit  «HH*  of  out  many  Mineral  Spring  Resorts. 

If  \  on  want  to  enjoy 'the  homelile  of  a  ranch,  there  are  many  ranch- 
ers who  arc.  glad  to  have  you. 

Camping  grounds  a're  free. 

At  the  resorts  and  the  homes  of  the  ranchers,    chaiges  are    reasonable. 

K..!    iK  tuiU.i   information  :i\>\>\\   at  ticket  ortu>.-.    f.-v.  M-.u  kt-t  St i 'rt.-i,    ^Chronicle    Building',     or    at 
...tli-v.    Miitunl  l.ik-  liM.n  .  S-.HISOHH    itn.l  Calitornia.  St^,. 
V.  \\'     l:«i-iii.!<.   l';-<  ^idt-nt  unit  r.«-ii»-r;j1  ManaK'1'"-  K-  -^  •   Ks  AN,  C.t'neral  Pa^.^fiijif'r  Aytnt 


